The Technological Society

THE

TECHNOLOGICAL

SOCIETY

JACQUES ELLUL

With an Introduction by Robert K. Merton

A penetrating analysis of our technical
civilization and of the effect of an increasingly
standardized culture on the future of man
A Vintage Book

THE

TECHNOLOGICAL

SOCIETY

BY

JACQUES ELLUL

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY JOHN WILKINSON

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ROBERT K. MERTON,

PROFESSOR Or SOCKXOCT, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

VINTAGE BOOKS
A Division of Random House

NEW YORK

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served under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Distributed in Canada by Random House of
Canada Limited, Toronto.

Originally published in French as La Technique ou tenjeu
du sidde by Librairie Armand Colin. Copyright, 1954, by
Max Leclerc et Cie, Proprietors of Librairie Armand Colin.
Reprinted by arrangement with Alfred A, Knopf, Inc.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1 3 5 7 9D8 6 4 2

VINTAGE BOOKS
are published by

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Statement from the Publisher

I would never have heard of this book and its author were it not
for my friend W. H. Ferry, Vice-President of the Center for the
Study of Democratic Institutions of the Fund for the Republic, Inc.,
at Santa Barbara, California.

Sometime in 1961, Robert M. Hutchins and Scott Buchanan told
Aldous Huxley of the Center's interest in technology and asked his
opinion about contemporary European works on the subject. Huxley
recommended above all Ellul's La Technique , which had been pub-
lished in Paris by Armand Colin in 1954 without having attracted
much attention. At any rate the copies of the French original which
the Center hastened to procure were from the first edition, as was
also the copy I secured after my old friend Ferry had written me
about it

I couldn't possibly read Ellul's French, which apart from the
matters with which he deals is very difficult, but since Scott Bu-
chanan and Columbia's distinguished sociologist Robert K, Merton
both said the book deserved publication in English, and since Mr.
Buchanan had a translator at hand in John Wilkinson of the Center
staff, who was willing to tackle this difficult and almost sure to be
thankless job, I committed our firm to an undertaking that I soon
began to call “Knopf's folly.”

Members of the Center met Ellul in Greece in 1961, where he at*
tended a conference as the Center s guest and read a paper he had
written at their request. They later paid him for a new introduction
he had written for the American edition of La Technique . And
the Center also helped to defray some extraordinary expenses in-
curred by Professor Wilkinson in the course of his work,

I wish belatedly to thank the Center publicly for all they did to
help us with one of the most difficult editorial tasks Alfred A. Knopf,
Inc,, has ever undertaken. This note should have appeared in our
first printing and I am sorry it did not.

Foreword

la The Technological Society, Jacques Ellul formulates a compre-
hensive and forceful social philosophy of our technical civilization.
Less penetrating than Thorstein Veblen's The Engineers and the
Price System, it nevertheless widens the scope of inquiry into the
consequences of having a society pervaded by technicians. Ellul's
book is more colorful and incisive than Oswald Spengler's Men and
Technics— which by contrast seems faded and unperceptive — and
it is more analytical than Lewis Mumford's trilogy — although Ellul
handles the historical evidence much more sparingly and with less
assurance than Mumford. And it is more far-ranging and system-
atic than Siegfried Giedion's Mechanization Takes Command,
which, of all the books overlapping Ellul's subject, comes ebse to
giving the reader a sense of what the dominance of technique
might mean for the present and the future of man. In short, what-
ever its occasional deficiencies. The Technological Society requires
us to examine anew what the author describes as the essential
tragedy of a civilization increasingly dominated by technique.

Despite Ellul’s forceful emphasis upon the erosion of moral
values brought about by technicism, he has written neither a latter-
day Luddite tract nor a sociological apocalypse. He shows that he
it thoroughly familiar with the cant perpetuated by technophobes

Vi)

and for the most part manages to avoid their cliches. Indeed, he
takes these apart with masterly skill to show them for the empty
assertions they typically are. Neither does he merely substitute a
high moral tone or noisy complaints for tough-minded analysis.
His contribution is far more substantial. He examines the role of
technique in modem society and offers a system of thought that,
with some critical modification, can help us understand the forces
behind the development of the technical civilization that is
distinctively ours.

Enough of Ellul’s idiosyncratic vocabulary has survived the
hazards of transoceanic migration to require us to note the special
meanings he assigns to basic terms. By technique , for example, he
means far more than machine technology. Technique refers to any
complex of standardized means for attaining a predetermined
result. Thus, it converts spontaneous and unreflective behavior into
behavior that is deliberate and rationalized. The Technical Man is
fascinated by results, by the immediate consequences of setting
standardized devices into motion. He cannot help admiring the
spectacular effectiveness of nuclear weapons of war. Above all, he
is committed to the never-ending search for ‘‘the one best way” to
achieve any designated objective.

Ours is a progressively technical civilization: by this Ellul means
that the ever-expanding and irreversible rule of technique is ex-
tended to all domains of life. It is a civilization committed to the
quest for continually improved means to carelessly examined ends.
Indeed, technique transforms ends into means. What was once
prized in its own right now becomes worthwhile only if it helps
achieve something else. And, conversely, technique turns means
into ends. “Know how” takes on an ultimate value.

The vital influence of technique is of course most evident in the
economy. It produces a growing concentration of capital (as was
presciently observed by Marx), Vast concentrations of capital re-
quire increasing control by the state. Once largely confined within
the business firm, planning now becomes the order of the day for
the economy as a whole. The dominance of technique imposes
centralism upon the economy { despite comparatively inconsequen-
tial efforts to decentralize individual industrial firms), for once
technique develops beyond a given degree, there is no effective

Foreword

(vii

alternative to planning. But this inevitable process is impersonal.

Only the naive can really believe that the world-wide movement
toward centralism results from the machinations of evil statesmen.

The intellectual discipline of economics itself becomes techni-
cized. Technical economic analysis is substituted for the older po-
litical economy included in which was a major concern with the
moral structure of economic activity. Thus doctrine is converted
into procedure. In this sphere as in others, the technicians form a
closed fraternity with their own esoteric vocabulary. Moreover,
they are concerned only with what is, as distinct from what ought
to be.

Politics in turn becomes an arena for contention among rival
techniques. The technician sees the nation quite differently from
the political man: to the technician, the nation is nothing more
than another sphere in which to apply the instruments he has de-
veloped. To him, the state is not the expression of the will of the
people nor a divine creation nor a creature of class conflict. It is an
enterprise providing services that must be made to function effi-
ciently. He judges states in terms of their capacity to utilize tech-
niques effectively, not in terms of their relative justice. Political
doctrine revolves around what is useful rather than what is good.
Purposes drop out of sight and efficiency becomes the central con-
cern. As the political form best suited to the massive and un-
principled use of technique, dictatorship gains in power. And this
in turn narrows the range of choice for the democracies: either they
too use some version of effective technique — centralized control
and propaganda — or they will fall behind.

Restraints on the rule of technique become increasingly tenuous.
Public opinion provides no control because it too is largely oriented
toward “performance” and technique is regarded as the prime in-
strument of performance, whether in the economy or in politics, in
art or in sports.

Not understanding what the rule of technique is doing to him
and to his world, modem man is beset by anxiety and a feeling of
insecurity. He tries to adapt to changes he cannot comprehend.
The conflict of propaganda takes the place of the debate of ideas.
Technique smothers the ideas that put its rule in question and filters
out for public discussion only those ideas that are in substantial

via)

accord with the values created by a technical civilization. Social
criticism is negated because there is only slight access to the techni-
cal means required to reach large numbers of people.

In Ellul's conception, then, life is not happy in a civilization domi-
nated by technique. Even the outward show of happiness is bought
at the price of total acquiescence. The technological society requires
men to be content with what they are required to like; for those
who are not content, it provides distractions— escape into absorp-
tion with technically dominated media of popular culture and
communication. And the process is a natural one: every part of a
technical civilization responds to the social needs generated by
technique itself. Progress then consists in progressive de-humani-
zation — a busy, pointless, and, in the end, suicidal submission to
technique.

The essential point, according to Ellul, is that technique pro-
duces all this without plan; no one wills it or arranges that it be sa
Our technical civilization does not result from a Machiavellian
scheme. It is a response to the "laws of development" of technique.

In proposing and expanding this thesis, Ellul reopens the great
debate over the social, political, economic, and philosophical mean-
ing of technique in the modem age. We need not agree with Ellul
to learn from him. He has given us a provocative book, in the
sense that he has provoked us to re-examine our assumptions and
to search out the flaws in his own gloomy forecasts. By doing so,
he helps us to see beyond the banal assertion that ours has become
a mass society, and he leads us to a greater understanding of that
society.

Robert K. Merton

Columbia University
January 1964

Translators Introduction

Jacques Ellul

as the Philosopher of the Technological Society

Ernst Jiinger once wrote that technology is the real metaphysics of
the twentieth century. The irreversible collectivist tendencies of
technology, whether it calls itself democratic or authoritarian, were
already apparent to him, at the end of World War I, It is this so-
ciety, in all its forms, which Jacques Ellul, of the Faculty of Law
of Bordeaux, seeks to analyze.

Professor Ellul, unlike most of the other surviving leaders of the
French Resistance, still functions as a voice of conscience for a
France which seems to feel itself in danger of being overwhelmed
from literally every point of the compass by the materialistic values
of the cold war— consumer society. Greater influence is enjoyed
by others such as Malraux and Sartre; but Malraux is in the service
of the welfare state (albeit one with Gallic flourishes) and Sartre
is growing rich by dispensing absinthe morality in the cellars of
the Left Bank. “I sometimes wonder," says Ellul in a related con-
nection, “about the revolutionary value of acts accompanied by
such a merry jingle of the cash register."

*)

Ellul’s principal work, this book, appeared under the title La
Technique and the subtitle L'enfeu du sidcle . The subtitle, which
means literally “the stake of the century/' is a characteristically dark
and difficult Ellulian phrase which may or may not refer to a kind
of “Pascal wager” put on technology by twentieth-century man.
The Technique of the title, however, lends itself more easily to in-
terpretation, although, characteristically, it too is used in a sense
it does not usually enjoy. Technique , the reader discovers more or
less quickly, must be distinguished from the several techniques
which are its elements. It is more even than a generalized mechani-
cal technique; it is, in fact, nothing less than the organized ensemble
of all individual techniques which have been used to secure any
end whatsoever. Harold Lasswell’s definition comes closest to
Ellul's conception: ‘The ensemble of practices by which one uses
available resources to achieve values/' This definition has the merit
of emphasizing the scope of technique; but Ellul’s further account
makes it clear that it does not go far enough, since technique has
become indifferent to all the traditional human ends and values by
becoming an end-in-itself . Our erstwhile means have all become an
end, an end, furthermore, which has nothing human in it and to
which we must accommodate ourselves as best we may. We cannot
even any longer pretend to act as though the ends justified the
means, which would still be recognizably human, if not particularly
virtuous. Technique, as the universal and autonomous technical
fact, is revealed as the technological society itself in which man is
but a single tightly integrated and articulated component. The
Technological Society is a description of the way in which an
autonomous technology is in process of taking over the traditional
values of every society without exception, subverting and sup-
pressing these values to produce at last a monolithic world culture
in which all non technological difference and variety is mere ap-
pearance.

The technical malaise so deeply felt in non-Communist Europe
at the imminent takeover has brought forth in recent years an as-
tonishingly large number of literary, philosophic, and sociological
analyses of the technical phenomenon. One of the great merits of
Ellul’s book arises from the fact that he alone has pushed such
analysis to the limit in all spheres of human activity and in the
totality of their interrelatedness. It may be added that what some

Translator's Introduction

(xi

authors feel to be the book’s demerits arise from the same source;
they maintain that society more often than not refuses to be pushed
to that reductio ad absurdum which is the inevitable end point of
every thoroughgoing analysis. The books of such authors generally
end on a note of optimism. A final chapter always asks: “What is to
be done?” Unfortunately, their answers to the question are either
inefficacious myths which confront reality with slogans, or only too
efficacious technical solutions to technical problems which end
only in subjecting man the more thoroughly to technology. The
former are exemplified by most modern religions, philosophical
systems, and political doctrines; the latter by schemes for mass
education or mass cultivation of leisure, which, in Ellul's analysis,
are themselves highly impersonal and technicized structures hav-
ing much more in common with the assembly line than with what
mankind has traditionally designated by these names.

The technological malaise seems to have been much less acutely
felt in the United States. Individuals such as Aldous Huxley, Paul
Tillich, and Erich Fromm, who have raised their voices in protest,
are of European origin and received their education in Europe.
Technolaters such as Professors B. F. Skinner of Harvard and most
other American professors represent the familiar type of the Ameri-
can intellectual caught in an ecstatic technical vertigo and seldom
proceeding beyond certain vague meditations on isolated problem
areas such as the “population explosion,” if indeed he considers
the real problems posed by technology at all. Ellul holds the Ameri-
cans to be the most conformist people in the world, but in fairness
it must be objected that, in his own analysis, the Soviets seem
better to deserve this dubious honor since they have made even
politics into a technique. The Americans, apart from technicizing
the electoral process, have left at least the sphere of politics to the
operations of amateurish bunglers and have thereby preserved a
modicum of humanity. It may be added that France, too, has been
taken into the technological orbit with a speed which must have
astonished Ellul. De Gaulle’s plans for his new France contem-
plate the complete technicization of French society in nine years
instead of the quarter century of grace which Ellul predicts in his
book.

Since the religious object is that which is uncritically wor-
shipped, technology tends more and more to become the new god.

xll)

This is true for all modern societies, but especially so for Com-
munist societies, since Marxism, in Ellul’s analysis of it, consciously
identifies the material infrastructure, upon which the social super-
structure is raised, with technology . 1 The expression of technologi-
cal malaise in the Soviet Union or in Red China, where technolatry
has become the new Establishment, would be blasphemy in the
strictest sense of the word.

In composition and style, Ellul's book is certain to be an enigma,
and even a scandal, to many. It is not sociology, political economy,
history, or any other academic discipline, at least as these terms are
usually understood. It will not even appear to be philosophy to a
generation whose philosophic preoccupations are almost exclu-
sively analytic. Ellul himself is in doubt about the value of the
designation philosopher . But, if we think back to the dialectical
philosophies of the whole of thinkers such as Plato and Hegel,
Ellul's book is philosophy. If an American specialist, say, in eco-
nomics, with his "terribly linear” logic and his apparently un-
shakable conviction that his arbitrarily delimited systems can and
should be studied in isolation from all others, were to flip open
Ellul’s book to those sections which treat of matters economic, it is
conceivable that he would be repelled by what he found. But if this
same specialist could somehow or other implausibly be persuaded
to persevere in the attempt to see with Ellul economics in the light
of the whole of modem technical culture, it is likewise conceivable
that he would gain important insights, not perhaps into the fine-
structure of academic economic problems, but in the border region
where his subject abuts on other disciplines, in that area where
basic discoveries in economics (and everything else) are always
made by gifted amateurs, who faute de mieux must be called
philosophers.

Ellul’s admittedly difficult style is not to be referred to that
style heurte affected by so many postwar French existentialists.
An element of this is doubtless present, but it would be much more
accurate to say that, in an essentially dramatic work such as the
present book must be deemed to be, the transitions and turns of
thought must have a character entirely different from those to be

1 Ellul once again showed much prescience. Marxist publications of the last few
years have come to speak of the ‘'technical-material infrastructure* instead of the
material infrastructure.*

T ranslator s Introduction

(xiii

encountered in the ultra-respectable academic texts which have
taken over from mathematics certain linear and deductive modes
of presentation; modes, which, whatever their pedagogic value may
be, serve, even in mathematics, only to obscure the way in which
truth comes into being. To its dramatic presentation of what are,
after all, well-known facts, Ellul's book owes its high persuasive
quality.

This dramatic character would have been clearly evident if the
book had been written as a dialogue. Indeed, a reader could easily
cast it into this form by representing to himself the various thinkers
who are introduced by name as the dramatis personae, and by
treating the nameless "On the one hands" and "On the other
hands" in the same way. In this way the "successive recantations"
erf some positions and the development of others in the light of a
guiding concept of the whole become clear, and the book's essen-
tial affinity to a Platonic dialogue like the Republic is evident. (No-
where is this successive recantation more evident than in the
first chapter's search for definitions. ) Even clearer is the similarity
of the book to Hegel's Phdnomenologie des Geistes , the last work of
Western philosophy with which, in the translator's opinion, the
present work bears comparison. The Technological Society is not a
"phenomenology of mind" but rather a "phenomenology of the
technical state of mind.” Like Hegel's book, it is intensely his-
trionic; and like it, it shows, without offering causal mechanisms ,
how its subject in its lowest stage (technique as machine tech-
nique) develops dialectically through the various higher stages
to become at last the fully evolved phenomenon (the technical
phenomenon identical with the technical society). Again, as with
Hegel, what the philosopher J. Loewenberg has called the “his-
trionic irony" of statement must drive the literal-minded reader
mad.

The Danish historian of philosophy, Harald Hoeffding, says of
Hegel’s Phenomenology :

The course of development described in this unique work is at
once that of the individual and of the race; it gives at the same
time a psychology and a history of culture — and in the exposition
the two are so interwoven that it is often impossible to tell which of
the two is intended.

xiv )

With the stipulation that Ellul is treating of culture in the sense
of the technological society, Hoeffding s penetrating remark holds
as well for Ellul's book.

In such a work it is impossible to separate method from content.
Yet, in another sense, and especially for a translator, it is impera-
tive to do so. Although, after the time of Descartes, French savants
in general were preoccupied with clarifying problems of method,
it has been almost impossible in the twentieth century to extort
from French writers on sociology and economics an adequate ac-
count of their procedures. Some of them have doubtless been over-
sensitive to Poincare s famous jibe concerning the sciences “with
the most methods and the fewest results." In Elluls case, however,
disinclination to discuss methodology specifically is almost cer-
tainly due in large part to his pervasive distrust of anything at all
resembling a fixed doctrine. Nevertheless, throughout the book are
scattered a large number of references to method, and it is possible
and necessary to reconstruct from them a satisfactory account of
the author’s methodology.

Ellul first “situates" the “facts" of experience in a general context,
and then proceeds to “focus" them. This figure of speech, drawn
from, or at least appropriate to, descriptive astronomy, appears
over and over again in connection with each supervening stage of
complexity of the subject matter. The final result of the procedure
is to bring to a common focal point rays proceeding from very
different bplieici. The leader should be warned that it is only pos-
sible to approximate in English the mixed metaphors and the
studied imprecisions of each new beginning of the process, which
are gradually refined to yield at the focus a precise terminology.
The Uaiislaloi was always uncomfortably aware of too little pre-
cision, or too much, in his choice of English words. The reader seri-
ously interested in these nuances has no recourse but to consult the
original. The translator can do little more for him than to call his
attention to the problem. Anyone familiar with similar “dialectic
moments” in the works of Hegel or of Max Weber will understand
at once what is meant.

Ellul repeats again and again that he is concerned not to make
value judgments but to report things as they are. One might be
tempted to smile at such statements in view of the intensely per-
sonal and even impassioned quality of a work in which one is never

Translator s Introduction

( xv

for a moment unaware where the authors own sympathies lie.
Nonetheless, on balance, it seems clear that he has not allowed his
own value judgments to intrude in any illegitimate way on ques-
tions of fact. “Fact” is very important to Ellul, but only as ex-
perienced in the context of the whole. Facts as they figure in un-
interpreted statistical analyses of a given domain, or as they may
be revealed by opinion polls and in newspapers, are anathema to
him; and he permits himself many diatribes against this kind of
“abstract,” disembodied fact which is so dear to the hearts of
Americans, at least as Ellul imagines them to be. With this proviso,
Ellul can echo the dictum of Hegel’s Phenomenology that the only
imaginable point of departure of philosophy is experience.

The insistence on rendering a purely phenomenological account
of fact, without causal explanation of the interrelation of the sub-
ordinate facts, may seem distasteful to some readers. Since Aristotle
it has been a common conception of science that we have knowl-
edge only when we know the Why. Admittedly, whenever causal
knowledge is available, it is indeed valuable. But it ought not to be
forgotten that such knowledge is increasingly hard to come by, and,
in fact, hardly makes its appearance at all in modern physics, say,
where one must, for the most part, be content with purely func-
tional ( that is, phenomenological ) equations, which dispense with
any appeal to mechanism but which are nonetheless adequate for
prediction and explanation, and which have the enormous addi-
tional advantage of containing no hidden concepts unconfront-
able by experience. The important questions concerning the techno-
logical society rarely turn for Ellul on how or why things came to
be so, but rather on whether his description of them is a true one.

Elluls methodology is fundamentally dominated by the prin-
ciple which has come to be called Engels law, that is, the law
asserting the passage of quantity into quality. To give a common-
place example, the city, after it reaches a certain threshold of
population, is supposed to pass over into a qualitatively different
type of urban organization. Unfortunately, both the popular and
the usual philosophical accounts of Engels law are incomplete, to
use no worse word.

First , it is incorrect to speak at all of a “threshold” of quantity
which, having been transcended, gives rise to a change of quality
and to a new set of laws and explanatory principles. In dialectical

xvi)

logic, every change of quantity fs simultaneously a change of
quality; and the discernment of a “threshold" quantity is partly a
psychological fact of awareness, and partly an illicit attempt to try
to import back into a dialectical logic some of the unequivocalness
of the ordinary either/or logic. Now, Ellul's explanation of the
technical takeover is based fundamentally on the fact that the ma-
terial (that is, technical) substratum of human existence, which
was traditionally not allowed to be a legitimate end of human ac-
tion, has become so “enormous," so “immense," that men are no
longer able to cope with it as means, so that it has become an
end-in-itself, to which men must adapt themselves. But, with a
better understanding of the illusory nature of the “threshold quan-
tity," we are able to turn aside the objections which are always
raised by those who rightly but extraneously urge that historical
societies have always had to struggle with the possibility of a ma-
terial takeover and that the present state of affairs is therefore not
something new. The answer, of course, is that the objection is ir-
relevant. Ellul could not mean to assert that men in the past have
not had to contend with material means which threatened to ex-
ceed their capacity to make good use of them, but that men in the
past were not confronted with technical means of production and
organization which in their sheer numerical proliferation and ve-
locity unavoidably surpassed man’s relatively unchanging biologi-
cal and spiritual capacities to exploit them as means to human
ends.

Second , Engel’s law must never be taken to imply a one-way
transition of quantity into quality. In dialectical logic the trans-
formation of quality into quantity is a necessary concomitant
mvArciW* tran?fr»rm!it!on rtf rtiianHfy into nnalih/. Tf Is in

” * — — i" / i j •

fact, the essence of technique to compel the qualitative to become
quantitative, and in this way to force every stage of human activity
and man himself to submit to its mathematical calculations. Ellul
gives examples of this at every level. Thus, technique forces all
sociological phenomena to submit to the clock, for Ellul the most
characteristic of all modern technical instruments. The substitution
of the tempos mortuum of the mechanical clock for the biological
and psychological time “natural" to man is in itself sufficient to
suppress all the traditional rhythms of human life in favor of the
mechanical. Again, genuine human communities are suppressed by

Translators Introduction

(xcii

the technological society to form collectivities of “mass men* in-
capable of obeying any other law than the statistical Taw of large
numbers.* All the technical devices of education, propaganda,
amusement, sport, and religion are mobilized to persuade the hu-
man being to be satisfied with his condition of mechanical* mind-
less “mass man,* and ruthlessly to exterminate the deviant and the
idiosyncratic.

The reduction of everything to quantity is partly a cause, and
partly an effect, of the modem omnipresence of computing ma-
chines and cybernated factories.

It should not be imagined, however, that the universal concentra-
tion camp which Ellul thinks is coming into being in all technical
societies without exception will be felt as harsh or restrictive by its
inmates. Hitlers concentration camps of hobnailed boots were
symptoms of a deficient political technique. The denizen of the
technological state of the future will have everything his heart ever
desired, except, of course, his freedom. Admittedly, modem man,
forced by technique to become in reality and without residue the
imaginary producer-consumer of the classical economists, shows
disconcertingly little regard for his lost freedom; but, according to
Ellul, there are ominous signs that human spontaneity, which in
the rational and ordered technical society has no expression except
madness, is only too capable of outbreaks of irrational suicidal de-
structiveness.

The escape valves of modem literature and art, which technique
has contrived, may or may not turn out to be adequate to the harm-
less release of the pent-up “ecstatic” energies of the human being.
Technique, which can in principle only oppose technical and quan-
titative solutions to technical problems, must, in such a case, seek
out other technical safety valves. It could, for example, convince
men that they were happy and contented by means of drugs, even
though they were visibly suffering from the worst kind of spiritual
and material privation. It is obvious that off such ultimate technical
measures must cause the last meager “idealistic* motifs of the whole
technical enterprise to disappear. Ellul does not specifically say
so, but it seems that he must hold that the technological society,
like everything else, bears within itself the seeds of its own destruc-
tion.

It must not be imagined that the autonomous technique cn-

visioned by Ellul is a kind of “technological determinism,* to use a
phrase of Veblen* It may sometimes seem so, but only because all
human institutions, like the motions of all physical bodies, have a
certain permanence, or vis inertiae, which makes it highly probable
that the near future of statistical aggregations will see them con-
tinue more or less in the path of the immediate past* Things could
have eventuated in the technological society otherwise than as they
have*

Technique, to Ellul, is a “blind* force, but one which unfortu-
nately seems to be more perspicacious than the best discernible
human intelligences. There are other ways out, Ellul maintains, but
nobody wants any part of them.

Ellul's insistence that the technical phenomenon is not a de-
terminism is not weakened by the enumeration (in the second
chapter) of five conditions which are said to be “necessary and
sufficient* for its outburst in the recent past, since the sufficient con-
ditions for the conditions ( for example, the causes of the popula-
tion explosion) are not ascertainable.

The inertia of the technical phenomenon guarantees not only the
continued refinement and production of relatively beneficial arti-
cles such as flush toilets and wonder drugs, but also the emergence
of those unpredictable secondary effects which are always the re-
sult of ecological meddling and which today are of such magnitude
and acceleration that they can scarcely be reconciled with even
semistable equilibrium conditions of society. Nuclear explosions
and population explosions capture the public's imagination; but I
have argued that Ellul’s analysis demands that all indices of mod-
em technological culture are exploding, too, and are potentially

just as dangerous to the coiituiUcd well-being of society, if by well-

being we understand social equilibrium.

Reference to the vis inertiae of technique should not obscure the

fact that technique has become the only fully spontaneous activity

of the modem world. Art and science are mentioned as other hu-

man activities by Ellul. But art, though it is concrete, is subjective;
and science, though objective in its description of reality, is ab-
stract. Only technique is at once both concrete and objective in
that it creates the reality it describes. Ellul must conclude that
from among the data of science technique legislates those which it
deems most efficient and reiects the rest Economic and social

Translators Introduction ( xix

"model builders” those assiduous technocratic apes, may seek to
soften the violence of this description by pointing out that aM
sciences "specify a universe of discourse.” It remains unfortunately
true, however, that such "specification” proceeds by way of elimina-
tion of the human;

Ellul is no machinoclast like the partisans of the weak-minded
Ludd seeking to wreck the stocking frames. He has no doctrinal de-
lusions at all, a fortiori none like those of Rousseau and certain of
his disciples, who imagined that man would be happy in a state
of nature.

In view of the fact that Ellul continually apostrophizes technique
as “unnatural” (except when he calls it the “new nature”), it might
be thought surprising that he has no fixed conception of nature
or of the natural. The best answer seems to be that he considers
"natural" ( in the good sense) any environment able to satisfy man*s
material needs, if it leaves him free to use it as means to achieve
his individual, internally generated ends. The necessary and suffi-
cient condition for this state of affairs is that man s means should
be (qualitatively and quantitatively) "at the level” of man’s ca-
pacities. Under these dubiously realizable circumstances, Ellul
apparently thinks of techniques as so many blessings.

Since men are unwilling to acknowledge their demotion to the
status of joyous robots, and since they demand justification for their
individual and collective acts as never before in history, it is easy
to understand why the modern intellectuals (and their forcing-
house, the university) have become veritable machines for the in-
vention of new myths and the propagation of old ones. It would
be easy to compile a list of all the things which Ellul must deem
"myth ” Such a list would quite simply contain all philosophical,
historical, religious, and political doctrines known to man, except
insofar as such doctrines have technological components. The
Western democracies, for example, are out after money and the
Eastern Communists are out after power; otherwise they share an
identical view of life, and the epiphenomenal variant ideologies
which accompany identical acts can only be described as a cruel
hoax.

It is disconcerting in the extreme to contemplate the possibility
that cherished democratic institutions have become empty forms
which have no visible connection with the acts of democratic na

xx)

tions, except perhaps to render these acts technically less efficient
than they otherwise need have been. But the fact that they have no
connection is, paradoxically, a powerful reason for their survival.
Ellul evidently contemplates a long future in which sclerotic rival
ideologies will carry on their sham polemics.

Ellul, in agreement with much of Greek philosophy, seems to
think that the distinction usually drawn between thought and ac-
tion is a pernicious one. To him, to bear witness to the fact of the
technological society is the most revolutionary of all possible acts.
His personal reason for doing so is that he is a Christian, a fact
which is spelled out in his book La Presence. His concept of the
duty of a Christian, who stands uniquely (is “present”) at the point
of intersection of this material world and the eternal world to come,
is not to concoct ambiguous ethical schemes or programs of social
action, but to testify to the truth of both worlds and thereby to
affirm his freedom through the revolutionary nature of his religion.

It is clear that many people who will accept Ellul's diagnosis of
the technical disease will not accept his Christian therapy. The is-
sue is nevertheless joined: if massive technological intervention is
the only imaginable means to turn aside technology from its head-
long career, how may we be sure that this intervention will be
something other than just some new technical scheme, which, more
likely than not, will be catastrophic?

John Wilunson

Center for the Study of Democratic Institution*

Santa Barbara , California
January 1964

Contents

NOTK TO THE HEADER XXV

FOREWORD TO THE REVISED AMERICAN EDITION XXVU

author's preface to the FRENCH EDITION XXXV

chapter I — Technique »

SITUATING THE TECHNICAL PHENOMENON

Machines and Technique 3

Science arid Technique 7

Organization and Technique 11

Definitions 13

Technical Operation and Technical Phenomenon

HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT

Primitive Technique 23

Greece 27

Home 29

Christianity and Technique
The Sixteenth Century
The Industrial Revolution

* us

xxii )

chapter 1 1 — The Characterology of Technique

TECHNIQUE IN CIVILIZATION

Traditional Techniques and Society 64

The New Characteristics Tt

CHARACTERISTICS OF MODERN TECHNIQUE

of Technical Choice 79

Self -augmentation 85

Monism 94

The Necessary Linking Together of Techniques 111

Technical Universalism 116

The Autonomy of Technique 133

chapter hi — Technique and Economy

THE BEST AND THE WORST

The Influence of Technique on the Economy 149

Economic Consequences 153

THE SECRET WAY

The Economic Techniques of Observation 163

The Economic Techniques of Action 171

Planning and Liberty 177

THE GREAT HOPES

Economic Systems Confronted by Technique 183

Progress iqo

Centralized Economy 193

The Authoritarian Economy 200

The Antidemocratic Economy 208

ECONOMIC MAN

chapter iv — Technique and the State

THE state’s ENCOUNTERS WITH TECHNIQUE

Ancient Techniques 229

New Techniques 233

Contents (xxiii

Private and Public Techniques 239

The Reaction of the State to Techniques 243

REPERCUSSIONS ON THE STATE

Evolution 248

The Technical Organism 252

The Conflict Between the Politicians and the Technicians 255

Technique and Constitution 267

T echnique and Political Doctrines 280

The Totalitarian State 284

SUMMUM JUS: SUMMA INJURIA
REPERCUSSION ON TECHNIQUE

Technique Unchecked 301

The Role of the State in the Development of Modern Tech-
niques 307

ln$fifufion$ in the Service of Technique 311

chapter v— Human Techniques

NECESSITIES

Human Tension

319

Modification of the Milieu and Space

3^5

Modification of Time and Motion

328

The Creation of the Mass Society

33 a

Human Techniques

335

REVIEW

Educational Technique

344

The Technique of Work

349

Vocational Guidance

358

Propaganda

363

Amusement

375

Sport

382

Medicine

384

ECHOES

techniques , Men, and Man

387

L'homme-machine

395

The Dissociation of Man 398

The Triumph of the Unconsciout 402

Mass Man 405

TOTAL INTEGRATION

Technical Anesthesia 412

Integration of the Instincts and of the Spiritual 415

The Pinal Resolution 418

chapter vi — ‘A Look at the Future
A Look at ihe Year 2000 432

BIBLIOGRAPHY 43 7

follows page 450

INDEX

Note to the Reader

I think the task of the reader will be lightened if at the outset I at-
tempt a definition of technique. The whole first chapter is devoted
to making clear what constitutes technique in the present-day
world, but as a preliminary there must be a simple idea, a defini-
tion.

The term technique, as I use it, does not mean machines, tech-
nology, or this or that procedure for attaining an end. In our
technological society, technique is the totality of methods rationally
arrived at and having absolute efficiency (for a given stage of de-
velopment ) in every field of human activity. Its characteristics are
new; the technique of the present has no common measure with
that of the past.

This definition is not a theoretical construct. It is arrived at by
examining each activity and observing the facts of what modem
man calls technique in general, as well as by investigating the dif-
ferent areas in which specialists declare they have a technique.

In the course of this work, the word technique will be used with
varying emphasis on one or another aspect of this definition. At one
point, the emphasis may be on rationality, at another on efficiency
or procedure, but the over-all definition will remain the same.

Finally, we shall be looking at technique in its sociological aspect;

xxvi )

that is, we shall consider the effect of technique on social relation-
ships, political structures, economic phenomena. Technique is not
an isolated fact in society (as the term technology would lead us
to believe) but is related to every factor in the life of modem man;
it affects social facts as well as all others. Thus technique itself is a
sociological phenomenon, and it is in this light that we shall study
it.

June 196$

Jacques Ellul

Author s Foreword to the
Revised American Edition

At the beginning I must try to make clear the direction and aim
of this book. Although descriptive, it is not without purpose. I do
not limit myself to describing my findings with cold objectivity in
the manner qf a research worker reporting what he sees under a
microscope. I am keenly aware that I am myself involved in
technological civilization, and that its history is also my own. I may
be compared rather with a physician or physicist who is describing
a group situation in which he is himself involved The physician
in an epidemic, the physicist exposed to radioactivity: in such
situations the mind may remain cold and lucid, and the method
objective, but there is inevitably a profound tension of the whole
being.

Although I have deliberately not gone beyond description, the
reader may perhaps receive an impression of pessimism. I am
neither by nature, nor doctrinally, a pessimist, nor have I pessimis-
tic prejudices. I am concerned only with knowing whether things
are so or not. The reader tempted to brand me a pessimist should
begin to examine his own conscience, and ask himself what causes
him to make such a judgment. For behind this judgment, I believe,
will always be found previous metaphysical value judgments, such

xxviii )

as: “Man is free”; “Man is lord of creation”; “Man has always over-
come challenges” (so why not this one too?); “Man is good” Or
again: “Progress is always positive”; “Man has an eternal soul, and
so cannot be put in jeopardy “ Those who hold such convictions
will say that my description of technological civilization is in-
correct and pessimistic. I ask only that the reader place himself on
the factual level and address himself to these questions: “Are the
facts analyzed here false?” “Is the analysis inaccurate?” “Are the
conclusions unwarranted?” “Are there substantial gaps and omis-
sions?” It will not do for him to challenge factual analysis on
the basis of his own ethical or metaphysical presuppositions.

The reader deserves and has my assurance that I have not set out
to prove anything. I do not seek to show, say, that man is deter-
mined, or that technique is bad, or anything else of the kind.

Two other factors may lead the reader to the feeling of pessi-
mism. It may be that he feels a rigorous determinism is here de-
scribed that leaves no room for effective individual action, or that
he cannot find any solution for the problems raised in the book
These two factors must now engage our attention.

As to the rigorous determinism, I should explain that I have tried
to perform a work of sociological reflection, involving analysis of
large groups of people and of major trends, but not of individual
actions. I do not deny the existence of individual action or of some
inner sphere of freedom. I merely hold that these are not discerni-
ble at the most general level of analysis, and that the individual’s
acts or ideas do not here and now exert any influence on social,
political, or economic mechanisms. By making this statement, I
explicitly take a partisan position in a dispute between schools of
sociology. To me the sociological does not consist of the addition
and combination of individual actions. I believe that there is a col-
lective sociological reality, which is independent of the individual.
As I see it, individual decisions are always made within the frame-
work of this sociological reality, itself pre-existent and more or less
determinative. I have simply endeavored to describe technique as
a sociological reality. We are dealing with collective mechanisms,
with relationships among collective movements, and with modifi-
cations of political or economic structures. It should not be sur-
prising, therefore, that no reference is made to the separate, inde-

Author* $ Foreword to the Revised American Edition (xxix

pendent initiative of individuals. It is not possible for me to treat
the individual sphere. But I do not deny that it exists. I do not
maintain that the individual is more determined today than he has
been in the past; rather, that he is differently determined. Primi-
tive man, hemmed in by prohibitions, taboos, and rites, was, of
course, socially determined. But it is an illusion — unfortunately
very widespread — to think that because we have broken through
the prohibitions, taboos, and rites that bound primitive man, we
have become free. We are conditioned by something new: techno-
logical civilization. I make no reference to a past period of history
in which men were allegedly free, happy, and independent. The
determinisms of the past no longer concern us; they are finished
and done with. If I do refer to the past, it is only to emphasize that
present determinants did not exist in the past, and men did not
have to grapple with them then. The men of classical antiquity
could not have found a solution to our present determinisms, and it
is useless to look into the works of Plato or Aristotle for an answer
to the problem of freedom.

Keeping in mind that sociological mechanisms are always sig-
nificant determinants — of more or less significance — for the indi-
vidual, I would maintain that we have moved from one set of
determinants to another. The pressure of these mechanisms is
today very great; they operate in increasingly wide areas and pene-
trate more and more deeply into human existence. Therein lies the
specifically modern problem.

This determinism has, however, another aspect. There will be a
temptation to use the word fatalism in connection with the phe-
nomena described in this book. The reader may be inclined to say
that, if everything happens as stated in the book, man is entirely
helpless — helpless either to preserve his personal freedom or to
change the course of events. Once again, I think the question is
badly put. I would reverse the terms and say: if man— if each one
of us — abdicates his responsibilities with regard to values; if each
of us limits himself to leading a trivial existence in a technological
civilization, with greater adaptation and increasing success as his
sole objectives; if we do not even consider the possibility of making
a stand against these determinants, then everything will happen as
I have described it, and the determinants wiU be transformed into
inevitabilities. But, in describing sociological currents, I obviously

XXX )

cannot take into account the contingent decisions of this or that
individual, even if these decisions could modify the course of social
development. For these decisions are not visible, and if they are
truly personal, they cannot be foreseen. I have tried to describe the
technical phenomenon as it exists at present and to indicate its
probable evolution. Fatalism is not involved; it is rather a question
of probability, and I have indicated what I think to be its most
likely development.

What is the basis for this most likely eventuality? I would say
that it lies in social, economic, and political phenomena, and in
certain chains of events and sequences. If we may not speak of
laws, we may, at any rate, speak of repetitions. If we may not
speak of mechanisms in the strict sense of the word, we may speak
of interdependencies. There is a certain logic (though not a formal
logic) in economic phenomena which makes certain forecasts pos-
sible. This is true of sociology and, to a lesser degree, of politics.
There is a certain logic in the evolution of institutions which is
easily discernible. It is possible, without resorting to imagination
or science fiction, to describe the path that a social body or institu-
tional complex will follow. An extrapolation is perfectly proper
and scientific when it is made with care. Such an extrapolation is
what we have attempted. But it never represents more than a
probability, and may be proved false by events.

External factors could change the course of history. The probable
development I describe might be forestalled by the emergence of
new phenomena. I give three examples — widely different, and de-
liberately so — of possible disturbing phenomena :

i) If a general war breaks out, and if there are any survivors,
the destruction will be so enormous, and the conditions of survival
so different, that a technological society will no longer exist.

a) If an increasing number of people become fully aware of the
threat the technological world poses to man's personal and spiritual
life, and if they determine to assert their freedom by upsetting the
course of this evolution, my forecast will be invalidated.

3) If God decides to intervene, man's freedom may be saved by
a change in the direction of history or in the nature of man.

But in sociological analysis these possibilities cannot be con-
sidered. The last two lie outside the field of sociology, and confront
us with an upheaval so vast that its consequences cannot be as-

Authors Foreword to the Revised American Edition (xxxi

sessed. But sociological analysis does not permit consideration of
these possibilities. In addition, the first two possibilities offer no
analyzable fact on which to base any attempt at projection. They
have no place in an inquiry into facts; I cannot deny that they may
occur, but I cannot take them rationally into account. I am in the
position of a physician who must diagnose a disease and guess its
probable course, but who recognizes that God may work a miracle,
that the patient may have an unexpected constitutional reaction, or
that the patient— suffering from tuberculosis — may die unex-
pectedly of a heart attack. The reader must always keep in mind
the implicit presupposition that if man does not pull himself to-
gether and assert himself (or if some other unpredictable but
decisive phenomenon does not intervene), then things will go the
way I describe

The reader may be pessimistic on yet another score. In this study
no solution is put forward to the problems raised. Questions are
asked, but not answered. I have indeed deliberately refrained
from providing solutions. One reason is that the solutions would
necessarily be theoretical and abstract, since they are nowhere ap-
parent in existing facts. I do not say that no solutions will be
found; I merely aver that in the present social situation there is
not even a beginning of a solution, no breach in the system of tech-
nical necessity. Any solutions I might propose would be idealistic
and fanciful. In a sense, it would even be dishonest to suggest solu-
tions; the reader might think them real rather than merely literary.
I am acquainted with the "solutions” offered by Emmanuel Mou-
rner, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Ragnor Frisch, Jean Fourastid,
Georges Friedmann, and others. Unfortunately, all these belong to
the realm of fancy and have no bearing on reality. I cannot ration-
ally consider them in analyzing the present situation.

However, I will not make a final judgment on tomorrow before it
arrives. I do not presume to put chains around man. But I do
insist that a distinction be made between diagnosis and treat-
ment. Before a remedy can be found, it is first necessary to make a
detailed study of the disease and the patient, to do laboratory re-
search, and to isolate the virus. It is necessary to establish criteria
that will make it possible to recognize the disease when it occurs,
and to describe the patient’s symptoms at each stage of his illness.

XXX ii )

This preliminary work is indispensable for eventual discovery and
application of a remedy.

By this comparison I do not mean to suggest that technique is a
disease of the body social, but rather to indicate a working proce-
dure. Technique presents man with multiple problems. As long as
the first stage of analysis is incomplete, as long as the problems are
not correctly stated, it is useless to proffer solutions. And, before
we can pose the problems correctly, we must have an exact descrip-
tion of the phenomena involved. As far as I know, there is no
over-all and exact description of the facts which would make it
possible to formulate the problems correctly.

The existing works on the subject either are limited to a single
aspect of the problem — the effect of motion pictures on the nerv-
ous system, for example — or else propose solutions without the req-
uisite preliminary study. I offer these pages as a first effort in lay-
ing the necessary ground; much more work will have to follow
before we can see what man's true response is to the challenge be-
fore him.

But this must not lead the reader to say to himself: "All right,
here is some information on the problem, and other sociologists,
economists, philosophers, and theologians will carry on the work, so
I have simply got to wait" This will not do, for the challenge is not
to scholars and university professors, but to all of us. At stake is our
very life, and we shall need all the energy, inventiveness, imagina-
tion, goodness, and strength we can muster to triumph in our pre-
dicament While waiting for the specialists to get on with their
work on behalf of society, each of us, in his own life, must seek
ways of resisting and transcending technological determinants.
Each man must make this effort in every area of life, in his profes-
sion and in his social, religious, and family relationships.

In my conception, freedom is not an immutable fact graven in
nature and on the heart of man. It is not inherent in man or in so-
ciety, and it is meaningless to write it into law. The mathematical,
physical, biological, sociological, and psychological sciences reveal
nothing but necessities and determinisms on all sides. As a matter
of fact, reality is itself a combination of determinisms, and freedom
consists in overcoming and transcending these determinisms. Free-
dom is completely without meaning unless it is related to necessity,
unless it represents victory over necessity. To say that freedom

Author s Foreword to the Revised American Edition ( xxxiti

is graven in the nature of man, is t o say that man is free because he
obeys his nature, or, to put it another way, because he is condi-
tioned by his nature. This is nonsense. We must not think of the
problem in terms of a choice between being determined and be-
ing free. We must look at it dialectically, and say that man is in-
deed determined, but that it is open to him to overcome necessity,
and that this act is freedom. Freedom is not static but dynamic;
not a vested interest, but a prize continually to be won. Hie mo-
ment man stops and resigns himself, he becomes subject to deter*
minism. He is most enslaved when he thinks he is comfortably
settled in freedom.

In the modem world, the most dangerous form of determinism
is the technological phenomenon. It is not a question of getting rid
of it, but, by an act of freedom, of transcending it How is this to
be done? I do not yet know. That is why this book is an Appeal to
the individual's sense of responsibility. The first step in thi quest,
the first act of freedom, is to become aware of the necessity. The
very fact that man can see, measure, and analyze the determinisms
that press on him means that he can face them and, by so doing,
act as a free man. If man were to say These are not necessities; I
am free because of technique, or despite technique,” this would
prove that he is totally determined. However, by grasping the real
nature of the technological phenomenon, and the extent to which
it is robbing him of freedom, he confronts the blind mechanisms as
a conscious being.

At the beginning of this foreword I stated that this book has a
purpose. That purpose is to arouse the reader to an awareness of
technological necessity and what it means. It is a call to the sleeper
to awake.

La Marierre , Teteac, Gironde, France
January 1964

Jacques Ellul

Author s Preface to the
French Edition

Let us, first of all, clear up certain misunderstandings that inevitably
arise in any discussion of technique.

It is not the business of this book to describe the various tech-
niques which, taken together, make up the technological society.
It would take a whole library to describe the countless technical
means invented by man; and such an undertaking would be of
little value. Moreover, quite enough elementary works describing
the various techniques are already available. I shall frequently
allude to some of these techniques on the assumption that their
applications or their mechanics are familiar to the reader.

I do not intend to draw up a balance sheet, positive or negative,
of what has been so far accomplished by means of these tech-
niques, or to compare their advantages and disadvantages. I shall
not repeat what has so often been stated, that through technology
the work week has been materially shortened, that living stand-
ards have risen, and so forth; or, on the other side of the ledger,
that the worker has encountered many difficulties in adapting to
the machine. Indeed, no one is capable of making a true and item-
ized account of the total effect of existing techniques. Only frag-
mentary and superficial surveys are possible.

xxxvi )

Finally, it is not my intention to make ethical or aesthetic judg*
ments on technique. A human being is, of course, human and not
a mere photographic plate, so that his own point of view inevitably
appears. But this does not preclude a deeper objectivity. The sign
of it will be that worshippers of technique will no doubt find this
work pessimistic and haters of technique will find it optimistic.

I have attempted simply to present, by means of a comprehen-
sive analysis, a concrete and fundamental interpretation of tech-
nique.

That is the sole object of this book.

THE TECHNOLOGICAL
SOCIETY

CHAPTER

CO

TECHNIQUES

No social, human, or spiritual fact is so important as the fact of tech-
nique in the modern world. And yet no subject is so little under-
stood, Let us try to set up some guideposts to situate the technical
phenomenon.

Situating the Technical Phenomenon

Machines and Technique . Whenever we see the word technology
or technique , we automatically think of machines. Indeed, we
commonly think of our world as a world of machines. This notion —
which is in fact an error — is found, for example, in the works of
Oldham and Pierre Ducass£. It arises from the fact that the ma-
chine is the most obvious, massive, and impressive example of tech-
nique, and historically the first What is called the history of tech-
nique usually amounts to no more than a history of the machine;
this very formulation is an example of the habit of intellectuals of
regarding forms of the present as identical with those of the past
Technique certainly began with the machine. It is quite true
that all the rest developed out of mechanics; it is quite true also that
without the machine the world of technique would not exist But

4 ) TECHNIQUES

t o explain the situation in this way doe s not a t all legitimatize it. It
is a mistake to continue with this confusion of terms, the more so
because it leads to the idea that, because the machine is at the
origin and center of the technical problem, one is dealing with the
whole problem when one deals with the machine. And that is a
greater mistake still. Technique has now become almost com-
pletely independent of the machine, which has lagged far behind
its offspring.

It must be emphasized that, at present, technique is applied out-
side industrial life. The growth of its power today has no relation
to the growing use of the machine. The balance seems rather to
have shifted to the other side. It is the machine which is now en-
tirely dependent upon technique, and the machine represents only
a small part of technique. If we were to characterize the relations
between technique and the machine today, we could say not only
that the machine is the result of a certain technique, but also that
its social and economic applications are made possible by other
technical advances. The machine is now not even the most impor-
tant aspect of technique (though it is perhaps the most spectac-
ular); technique has taken over all of man's activities, not just his
productive activity.

From another point of view, however, the machine is deeply
symptomatic: it represents the ideal toward which technique
strives. The machine is solely, exclusively, technique; it is pure
technique, one might say. For, wherever a technical factor exists, it
results, almost inevitably, in mechanization: technique transforms
everything it touches into a machine.

Another relationship exists between technique and the machine,
and this relationship penetrates to the very core of the problem of
our civilization. It is said ( and everyone agrees ) that the machine
has created an inhuman atmosphere. The machine, so characteris-
tic of the nineteenth century, made an abrupt entrance into a soci-
ety which, from the political, institutional, and human points of
view, was not made to receive it; and man has had to put up with it
as best he can. Men now live in conditions that are less than human.
Consider the concentration of our great cities, the slums, the lack
of space, of air, of time, the gloomy streets and the sallow lights
that confuse night and day. Think of our dehumanized factories,
our unsatisfied senses, our working women, our estrangement from

The Technological Society ( 5

nature. Life in such an environment has no meaning. Consider our
public transportation, in which man is less important than a parcel;
our hospitals, in which he is only a number. Yet we call this prog*
res s. . . . And the noise, that monster boring into us at every hour
of the night without respite*

It is useless to rail against capitalism. Capitalism did not create
our world; the machine did. Painstaking studies designed to prove
the contrary have buried the obvious beneath tons of print. And,
if we do not wish to play the demagogue, we must point out the
guilty party. "The machine is antisocial,"' says Lewis Mumford, "It
tends, by reason of its progressive character, to the most acute
forms of human exploitation.” The machine took its place in a social
milieu that was not made for it, and for that reason created the in-
human society in which we live. Capitalism was therefore only one
aspect of the deep disorder of the nineteenth century. To restore
order, it was necessary to question all the bases of that society —
its social and political structures, its art and its way of life, its com-
mercial system.

But let the machine have its head, and it topples everything that
cannot support its enormous weight. Thus everything had to be re-
considered in terms of the machine. And that is precisely the role
technique plays. In all fields it made an inventory of what it could
use, of everything that could be brought into line with the ma-
chine. The machine could not integrate itself into nineteenth-
century society; technique integrated it. Old houses that were not
suited to the workers were tom down; and the new world tech-
nique required was built in their place. Technique has enough of
the mechanical in its nature to enable it to cope with the machine,
but it surpasses and transcends the machine because it remains in
close touch with the human order. The metal monster could not
go on forever torturing mankind. It found in technique a rule as
hard and inflexible as itself.

Technique integrates the machine into society. It constructs the
kind of world the machine needs and introduces order where the in-
coherent banging of machinery heaped up ruins. It clarifies, ar-»
ranges, and rationalizes; it does in the domain of the abstract what
the machine did in the domain of labor. It is efficient and bring*
efficiency to everything. Moreover, technique is sparing in the use
of the machine, which has traditionally been exploited to conceal

TECHNIQUES

6 )

defects of organization. “Machines sanctioned social inefficiency,’*
says Mumford. Technique, on the other hand, leads to a more
rational and less indiscriminate use of machines. It places ma-
chines exactly where they ought to be and requires of them just
what they ought to do

This brings us to two contrasting forms of social growth. Henri
Guitton says: “Social growth was formerly reflexive or instinctive,
that is to say, unconscious. But new circumstances (the machine)
now compel us to recognize a kind of social development that is ra-
tional, intelligent, and conscious. We may ask ourselves whether
this is the beginning not only of the era of a spatially finite world but
also of the era of a conscious world.” All-embracing technique is
in fact the consciousness of the mechanized world.

Technique integrates everything. It avoids shock and sensational
events. Man is not adapted to a world of steel; technique adapts him
to it. It changes the arrangement of this blind world so that man
can be a part of it without colliding with its rough edges, without
the anguish of being delivered up to the inhuman. Technique thus
provides a model; it specifies attitudes that are valid once and for
all. The anxiety aroused in man by the turbulence of the machine is
soothed by the consoling hum of a unified society.

As long as technique was represented exclusively by the ma-
chine, it was possible to speak of “man and the machine.” The ma-
chine remained an external object, and man (though significantly
influenced by it in his professional, private, and psychic life) re-
mained none the less independent He was in a position to assert
himself apart from the machine; he was able to adopt a position
with respect to it.

But when technique enters into every area of life, including the
human, it ceases to be external to man and becomes his very sub-
stance. It is no longer face to face with man but is integrated with
him, and it progressively absorbs him. In this respect, technique is
radically different from the machine. This transformation, so obvi-
ous in modem society, is the result of the fact that technique has
become autonomous.

When I state that technique leads to mechanization, I am not
referring to the simple fact of human adaptation to the machine. Of
course, such a process of adaptation exists, but it is caused by the ac-

The Technological Society ( 7

tion of the machine. What we are concerned with here, however, is
a kind of mechanization in itself. If we may ascribe to the machine
a superior form of “know-how," the mechanization which results
from technique is the application of this higher form to all domains
hitherto foreign to the machine; we can even say that technique is
characteristic of precisely that realm in which the machine itself
can play no role. It is a radical error to think of technique and ma-
chine as interchangeable; from the very beginning we must be on
guard against this misconception.

Science and Technique . Almost immediately we come up against
a second problem. It is true that it is another pons asinorum; one
hesitates even to mention it since the question has been so often
discussed. The relation between science and technique is a stand-
ard subject for graduate theses — in all the trappings of nineteenth-
century experimental science. Everyone has been taught that tech-
nique is an application of science; more particularly ( science being
pure speculation ), technique figures as the point of contact between
material reality and the scientific formula. But it also appears as
the practical product, the application of the formulas to practical
life.

This traditional view is radically false. It takes into account only
a single category of science and only a short period of time: it is
true only for the physical sciences and for the nineteenth century. It
is not possible therefore to base a general study on it nor, as we are
attempting to do here, an up-to-date review of the situation.

A few simple remarks suffice to destroy our confidence in these
views. Historically, technique preceded science; even primitive man
was acquainted with certain techniques. The first techniques of
Hellenistic civilization were Oriental; they were not derived from
Greek science. Thus, historically speaking, the relationship between
science and technique ought to be reversed.

However, technique began to develop and extend itself only after
science appeared; to progress, technique had to wait for science.
Bertrand Gille has rightly said, in this historical perspective: "Tech-
nique, by means of repeated experiments, posed the problems,
derived general notions and the four primary elements; but it had
to wait for the solutions” — which science provided.

In the present era, the most casual inspection reveals an entirely

TECHNIQUES

6 )

different relationship. In every instance, it is clear that the border
between technical activity and scientific activity is not at all sharply
defined.

When we speak of technique in historical science, we mean a cer-
tain kind of preparatory work; textual research, reading, collation,
study of monuments, criticism, and exegesis. These represent an
ensemble of technical operations which aim first at interpretation
and then at historical synthesis, the true work of science. Here,
again, technique comes first.

Even in physics, in certain instances, technique precedes science.
The best-known example is the steam engine, a pure achievement of
experimental genius. The sequence of inventions and improvements
of Solomon De Caus, Christian Huygens, Denes Papin, Thomas
Savery, and so on, rest on practical trial and error. The scientific
explanation of the various phenomena involved was to come much
later, after a lapse of two centuries, and even then it was not easy to
formulate. There is still no automatic link between science and
technique. The relation is not that simple; there is more and more
interaction between them. Today all scientific research presupposes
enormous technical preparation (as, for example, in atomic re-
search). And very often it is some simple technical modification
which allows further scientific progress.

When the technical means do not exist, science does not advance.
Michael Faraday was aware of the most recent discoveries concern-
ing the constitution of matter, but was unable to formulate precise
theories because techniques for the production of vacua did not yet
exist. Scientific results had to await high-vacuum techniques. The
medical value of penicillin was discovered in 191a by a French
physician, but he had no technical means of producing and con-
serving penicillin; misgivings therefore arose about the discovery
and led to its eventual abandonment.

The majority of investigators in a laboratory are technicians who
perform tasks far removed from what is commonly imagined to be
scientific work. The research worker is no longer a solitary genius.
As Robert Jungk says: “He works as a member of a team and is will-
ing to give up his freedom of research as well as personal recognition
in exchange for the assistance and equipment a great laboratory
offers him. These two tilings are the indispensable conditions with-
out which he cannot even dream of realizing his projects. , ,

The Technological Society ( 9

Pure science seems to be yielding its place to an applied science
which now and again reaches a brilliant peak from which new
technical research becomes possible. Conversely, certain technical
modifications — in airplanes, for instance — which may seem simple
and mechanical, presuppose complex scientific work. The problem
of reaching supersonic velocities is one. The considered opinion of
Norbert Wiener is that the younger generation of research workers
in the United States consists primarily of technicians who are un-
able to do research at all without the help of machines, large teams
of men, and enormous amounts of money.

The relation between science and technique becomes even less
clear when we consider the newer fields, which have no boundaries.
Where does biological technique begin and where does it end? In
modern psychology and sociology, what can we call technique,
since in the application of these sciences everything is technique?

But it is not application which characterizes technique, for, with-
out technique (previous or concomitant), science has no way of
existing. If we disown technique, we abandon the domain of science
and enter into that of hypothesis and theory. In political economy
( despite the recent efforts of economists to distinguish the bounda-
ries between science and economic technique), we shall demon-
strate that it is economic technique which forms the very substance
of economic thought.

The established foundations have indeed been shaken. But the
problem of these relations, in view of the enormity of the technical
world and the reduction of the scientific, would seem to be an aca-
demic problem of interest only to philosophers — speculation with-
out content, Today it is no longer the frontiers of science which are
at issue, but the frontiers of man; and the technical phenomenon is
much more significant with regard to the human situation than
with regard to the scientific. It is no longer in reference to science
that technique must be defined. We need not pursue philosophy of
science here, or establish, ideally or intellectually, what may be the
relations between action and science. What we must do is look about
us and note certain obvious things which seem to escape the all too
intelligent philosophers.

It is not a question of minimizing the importance of scientific ac-
tivity, but of recognizing that in fact scientific activity has been
superseded by technical activity to such a degree that we can no

TECHNIQUES

10 )

longer conceive of science without its technical outcome As Charles
Camichel has observed, the two are closer than ever before. The
very fact that techniques advance with great rapidity demands a
corresponding scientific advance, and sets off a general accelera-
tion.

Moreover, techniques are always put to immediate use The in-
terval which traditionally separates a scientific discovery and its
application in everyday life has been progressively shortened. As
soon as a discovery is made, a concrete application is sought Capi-
tal becomes interested, or the state, and the discovery enters the
public domain before anyone has had a chance to reckon all the
consequences or to recognize its full import. The scientist might act
more prudently; he might even be afraid to launch his carefully cal-
culated laboratory findings into the world. But how can he resist
the pressure of the facts? How can he resist the pressure of money?
How is he to resist success, publicity, public acclaim? Or the gen-
eral state of mind which makes technical application the last word?
How is he to resist the desire to pursue his research? Such is the
dilemma of the researcher today. Either he allows his findings to be
technologically applied or he is forced to break off his research.
Such is the drama of the atomic physicists who saw that only the
laboratories at Los Alamos could provide them with the technical
instruments necessary to the continuation of their work. The state,
then, exercises a very real monopoly, and the scientist is obliged to
accept its conditions. As one of the atomic scientists put it: “What
keeps me here is the possibility of using for my work a special mi-
croscope which exists nowhere else” (Jungk). The scientist is no
longer able to hold out: “Even science, especially the magnificent
science cf our own day, has become an cicmem 01 iccmnque, a
mere means” (Mauss). There we have, indeed, the final word:
science has become an instrument of technique.

Later, we shall consider how it has come about that scientific
utilitarianism has gained such momentum from technique that a
disinterested piece of research is no longer possible. It has always
been necessary to have a scientific substructure, but today it is
scarcely possible to effect a separation between scientific and techni-
cal research. Indeed, our omnivorous technique (and this repre-
sents in part Einsteins thought) may in the end make science
sterile.

The Technological Society ( 1 1

I shall often use the term technique in place of the more com-
monly used term science , and designate as techniques work that is
usually termed scientific. This is due to the close association of
technique and science which I have pointed out and which I shall
discuss more fully later on.

Organization and Technique . A third element will help us formu-
late our problem more clearly. I have already pointed out that we
must understand the term technique in a broader sense. But some
authors, not wishing to deviate from traditional linguistic usage,
prefer to keep to its current meaning and seek another term to
designate the phenomena we are describing here.

According to Arnold Toynbee, history is divided into three pe-
riods, and it is on the point of passing from the technical period
into the period of organization. I agree with Toynbee that mechani-
cal technique no longer characterizes our times. However important
and impressive mechanical technique remains, it is only accessory
to other factors which are much more decisive, if less spectacular.
I have in mind the vast amount of organization in every field, the
recognition of which led James Burnham to write The Managerial
Revolution.

But I cannot agree with Toynbee in his choice of terms or in the
line he draws between the technical period and the period of or-
ganization. In his sketchy conception of technique, for which he
has been severely criticized, the confusion between machine and
technique remains. He has limited the realm of technique to what
it was in the past, without considering what it is now.

In reality, what Toynbee calls organization , and Burnham calls
managerial action, is technique applied to social, economic, or ad-
ministrative life. What but technique is the “organization” defined
in the following? “Organization is the process which consists in
assigning appropriate tasks to individuals or to groups so as to at-
tain, in an efficient and economic way, and by the coordination
and combination of all their activities, the objectives agreed upon”
(Sheldon). This leads to the standardization and the rationaliza-
tion of economic and administrative life, as Antoine Mas has well
shown. “Standardization means resolving in advance all the prob-
lems that might possibly impede the functioning of an organization.
It is not a matter of leaving it to inspiration, ingenuity, nor even
intelligence to find a solution at the moment some difficulty arises;

TECHNIQUES

12 )

it is rather in some way to anticipate both the difficulty and its
resolution. From then on, standardization creates impersonality, in
the sense that organization relies more on methods and instructions
than on individuals.” We thus have all the marks of a technique.
Organization is a technique — and Andre L. A. Vincent had good
reason to write: *To approach the optimum combination of factors,
or the optimum dimension is ♦ . . to accomplish technical prog-
ress in the form of a better organ ization.”

It will no doubt be asked: What is the point of discussing these
terms, since, at bottom, you are in agreement with Toynbee? But
these discussions are important: Toynbee separates centuries and
phenomena which ought to remain united. He would have us be-
lieve that organization is something other than technique, that man
has in a way discovered a new field of action and new methods,
and that we must study organization as a new phenomenon, when
it is nothing of the sort. I, on the other hand, insist on the con-
tinuity of the technical process. It is this process which is taking on
a new aspect (I would say, its true aspect) and is developing on a
world-wide scale.

What are the consequences? The first is that the problems cre-
ated by mechanical technique will be heightened to a degree as
yet incalculable, as a result of the application of technique to ad-
ministration and to all spheres of life. Toynbee believes that this
organization which is succeeding technique is in some way a coun-
terbalance to it, and a remedy ( and that is a comforting view of
history ). But it seems to me that the exact opposite is true, that this
development adds to the technical problems by offering a partial
solution to old problems, itself based on the very methods that
created the problems in the first place. This is the age-old proce-
dure of digging a new hole to fill up an old one.

A second consequence: If what we are witnessing is only an ex-
tension of the domain of technique, what was said above about
mechanization is understandable. Toynbee writes of organization
as a phenomenon whose effects cannot yet be seen. However, we
can be confident that the final result will be that technique will
assimilate everything to the machine; the ideal for which technique
strives is the mechanization of everything it encounters. It is clear,
therefore, that my opposition to Toynbee, even if it appears to be
merely verbal, is significant. The technical age continues to ad-

The Technological Society (13

vance and we cannot even say that we are at the peak of its cr*
pansion. In fact, some decisive conquests remain to be made —
man, among others — and it is hard to see what is to prevent
technique from making them. Thus, even if this is not a question
of a new factor, it is at least clear now what the phenomenon in-
volves and what it signifies.

Definitions . Once we stop identifying technique and machine, the
definitions of technique we find are inadequate to the established
facts. Marcel Mauss, the sociologist, understands the problem ad-
mirably, and has given various definitions of technique, some of
which are excellent. Let us take one that is open to criticism and,
by criticizing it, state our ideas more precisely: "Technique is a
group of movements, of actions generally and mostly manual, or-
ganized, and traditional, all of which unite to reach a known end,
for example, physical, chemical or organic.**

This definition is perfectly valid for the sociologist who deals
with the primitive. It offers, as Mauss shows, numerous advantages.
For example, it eliminates from the realm of techniques questions
of religion or art (magic, however, ought to be classified among
techniques, as we shall see later). But these advantages apply only
in a historical perspective. In the modern perspective, this defini-
tion is insufficient.

Can it be said that the technique of elaboration of an economic
plan (purely a technical operation) is the result of such movements
as Mauss describes? No particular motion or physical act is in-
volved. An economic plan is purely an intellectual operation,
which nevertheless is a technique.

When we consider Mauss’s statement that technique is restricted
to manual activity, the inadequacy of his definition is even more
apparent. Today most technical operations are not manual.
Whether machines are substituted for men, or technique becomes
intellectual, the most important sphere in the world today (because
in it lie the seeds of future development) is scarcely that of manual
labor. True, manual labor is still the basis of mechanical operation,
and we would do well to recall Jungers principal argument
against the illusion of technical progress. He holds that the more
technique is perfected, the more it requires secondary manual
labor; and, furthermore, that the volume of manual operations
increases faster than the volume of mechanical operations. Hus

TECHNIQUES

u)

may be so, but the most important feature of techniques today is
that they do not depend on manual labor but on organization and
on the arrangement of machines.

I am willing to accept the term organized , as Mauss uses it in
his definition, but I must part company with him in respect to his
use of the term traditional. And this differentiates the technique of
today from that of previous civilizations. It is true that in all civiliza-
tions technique has existed as tradition, that is, by the transmission
of inherited processes that slowly ripen and are even more slowly
modified; that evolve under the pressure of circumstances along
with the body social; that create automatisms which become
hereditary and are integrated into each new form of technique.

But how can anyone fail to see that none of this holds true today?
Technique has become autonomous; it has fashioned an omnivo-
rous world which obeys its own laws and which has renounced all
tradition. Technique no longer rests on tradition, but rather on
previous technical procedures; and its evolution is too rapid, too
upsetting, to integrate the older traditions. This fact, which we
shall study at some length later on, also explains why it is not
quite true that a technique assures a result known in advance. It
is true if one considers only the user: the driver of an automobile
knows that he can expect to go faster when he steps on the ac-
celerator. But even in the field of the mechanical, with the advent
of the technique of servo-mechanisms, 1 this axiom does not hold
true. In these cases the machine itself adapts as it operates: this
very fact makes it difficult to predict the final result of its activity.
This becomes clear when one considers not use but technical
progress — although, at the present time, the two are closely asso-
ciated. It is less and less exact to maintain that the user remains
for very long in possession of a technique the results of which he
can predict; constant invention ceaselessly upsets his habits.

Finally, Mauss appears to think that the goal attained is of a
chemical or a physical order. But today we recognize that tech-
niques go further. Psychoanalysis and sociology have passed into
the sphere of technical application; one example of this is propa-

1 Mechanisms which involve so-called “feedback," in which information measuring
the degree to which an effector (e.e., an oil furance) is in error with respect to
producing a desired value (e.g., a fixed room temperature) is “fed back’* to the
effector by a monitor ( e.g., a thermostat). ( Trans. )

The Technological Society (25

ganda. Here the operation is of a moral, psychic, and spiritual
character. However, that does not prevent it from being a tech-
nique. But what we are talking about is a world once given over
to the pragmatic approach and now being taken over by method.
We can say, therefore, that Mauss’s definition, which was valid for
technique until the eighteenth century, is not applicable to our
times. In this respect Mauss has been the victim of his own socio-
logical studies of primitive people, as his classification of tech-
niques (food gathering, the making of garments, transport, etc.)
clearly shows.

Further examples of inadequate definition are those supplied by
Jean Fourastie and others who pursue the same line of research as
he. For Fourastie, technical progress is "the growth of the volume
of production obtained through a fixed quantity of raw material or
human labor” — that is, technique is uniquely that which promotes
this increase in yield. He then goes on to say that it is possible to
analyze this theorem under three aspects. In yield in kind , tech-
nique is that which enables raw materials to be managed in order
to obtain some predetermined product; in financial yield, tech-
nique is that which enables the increase in production to take place
through the increase of capital investment; in yield of human labor ,
technique is that which increases the quantity of work produced
by a fixed unit of human labor. In this connection we must thank
Fourastie for correcting Jiinger s error — Jiinger opposes technical
progress to economic progress because they would be, in his opin-
ion, contradictory; Fourastie shows that, on the contrary, the two
coincide. However, we must nevertheless challenge his definition
of technique on the ground that it is completely arbitrary.

It is arbitrary, first of all, because it is purely economic and
contemplates only economic yield. There are innumerable tradi-
tional techniques which are not based on a quest for economic
yield and which have no economic character. It is precisely these
which Mauss alludes to in his definition; and they still exist.
Among the myriad modern techniques, there are many which have
nothing to do with economic life. Take, for example, a technique of
mastication based on the science of nutrition, or techniques of
sport, as in the Boy Scout movement — in these cases we can see a
kind of yield, but this yield has little to do with economics.

In other cases, there are economic results, but these results are

I 6 ) TECHNIQUES

secondary and cannot be said to be characteristic. Take, for ex-
ample, the modem calculating machine. The solving of equations
in seventy variables, required in certain econometric research, is
impossible except with an electronic calculating machine. How-
ever, it is not the economic productivity which results from the
utilization of this machine by which its importance is measured.

A second criticism of Fourasti6's definition is that he assigns an
exclusively productive character to technique. The growth of the
volume of production is an even narrower concept than yield. The
techniques which have shown the greatest development are not
techniques of production at all. For example, techniques in the care
of human beings (surgery, psychology, and so on) have nothing
to do with productivity. The most modern techniques of destruc-
tion have even less to do with productivity; the atomic and hydro-
gen bombs and the Germans' Vi and V 2 weapons are all examples
of the most powerful technical creations of man's mind. Human
ingenuity and mechanical skill are today being exploited along
lines which have little reference to productivity.

Nothing equals the perfection of our war machines. Warships and
warplanes are vastly more perfect than their counterparts in ci-
vilian life. The organization of the army — its transport, supplies,
administration — is much more precise than any civilian organiza-
tion. The smallest error in the realm of war would cost countless
lives and would be measured in terms of victory or defeat.

What is the yield there? Very poor, on the whole. Where is the
productivity? There is none.

Vincent, in his definition, likewise refers to productivity: “Tech-
nical progress is the relative variation in world production in a
given sphere between two given periods.” This definition, useful of
course from the economic point of view, leads him at once into a
dilemma. He is obliged to distinguish technical progress from
progress of technique (which corresponds to the progression of
techniques in all fields ) and to distinguish these two from “techni-
cal progress, properly speaking” which concerns variations in
productivity. This is an inference made from natural phenomena,
for, in his definition, Vincent is obliged to recognize that technical
progress includes natural phenomena (the greater or lesser richness
of an ore, of the soil, etc.) by definition the very contrary of tech-
nique l

The Technological Society (17

These linguistic acrobatics and hairsplittings suffice to prove the
inanity of such a definition, which aims at a single aspect of techni-
cal progress and includes elements which do not belong to tech-
nique. From this definition, Vincent infers that technical progress
is slow. But what is true of economic productivity is not true of
technical progress in general. If one considers technique shorn of
one whole part, and that its most progressive, one can indeed assert
that it is slow in its progress. This abstraction is even more illusory
when one claims to measure technical progress. The definition
proposed by Fourastie is inexact because it excludes everything
which does not refer to production, and all effects which are not
economic.

This tendency to reduce the technical problem to the dimensions
of the technique of production is also present in the works of so
enlightened a scholar as Georges Friedmann. In his introduction to
the UNESCO Colloquium on technique, he appears to start out
with a very broad definition. But in the second paragraph, without
warning, he begins to reduce everything to the level of economic
production.

What gives rise to this limitation of the problem? One factor
might be a tacit optimism, a need to hold that technical progress
is unconditionally valid — which leads to the selection of the most
positive aspect of technical progress, as though it were its only one.

This may have guided Fourastie, but it does not seem to hold
true in Friedmann’s case. I believe that the reasoning behind Fried-
mann’s way of thinking is to be found in the turn of the scientific
mind. All aspects — mechanical, economic, psychological, socio-
logical— of the techniques of production have been subjected to
innumerable specialized studies; as a result, we are beginning to
learn in a more precise and scientific way about the relationships
between man and the industrial machine. Since the scientist must
use the materials he has at hand; and since almost nothing is known
about the relationship of man to the automobile, the telephone, or
the radio, and absolutely nothing about the relationship of man to
the Apparat or about the sociological effects of other aspects of
technique, the scientist moves unconsciously toward the sphere of
what is known scientifically, and tries to limit the whole question
to that.

There is another element in this scientific attitude: only that is

TECHNIQUES

18)

knowable which is expressed (or, at least, can be expressed) in
numbers. To get away from the so-called “arbitrary and subjec-
tive," to escape ethical or literary judgments (which, as everyone
knows, are trivial and unfounded), the scientist must get back to
numbers. What, after all, can one hope to deduce from the purely
qualitative statement that the worker is fatigued? But when bio-
chemistry makes it possible to measure fatigability numerically, it
is at last possible to take account of the worker’s fatigue. Then
there is hope of finding a solution. However, an entire realm of
effects of technique — indeed, the largest — is not reducible to num-
bers; and it is precisely that realm which we are investigating in
this work. Yet, since what can be said about it is apparently not
to be taken seriously, it is better for the scientist to shut his eyes
and regard it as a realm of pseudo-problems, or simply as non-
existent. The “scientific” position frequently consists of denying
the existence of whatever does not belong to current scientific
method. The problem of the industrial machine, however, is a
numerical one in nearly all its aspects. Hence, all of technique is
unintentionally reduced to a numerical question. In the case of
Vincent, this is intentional, as his definition shows: “We embrace in
technical progress all kinds of progress . . . provided that they
are treatable numerically in a reliable way."

H. D. Lasswell’s definition of technique as "the ensemble of prac-
tices by which one uses available resources in order to achieve
certain valued ends” also seems to follow the conventions cited
above, and to embrace only industrial technique. Here it might be
contested whether technique does indeed permit the realization
of values. However, to judge from Lasswell’s examples, he con-
ceives the terms of his definition in an extremely broad manner.
He gives a list of values and the corresponding techniques. As
values, for example, he lists riches, power, well-being, affection;
and as techniques, the techniques of government, production,
medicine, the family, and so on. LasswelTs conception of value
may seem somewhat strange; the term is obviously not apt. But
what he has to say indicates that he gives techniques their full
scope. Moreover, he makes it quite clear that it is necessary to
show the effects of technique not only on inanimate objects but
also on people. I am, therefore, in substantial agreement with this
conception.

The Technological Society (19

Technical Operation and Technical Phenomenon. With the use
of these few guideposts, we can now try to formulate, if not a full
definition, at least an approximate definition of technique. But we
must keep this in mind : we are not concerned with the different in-
dividual techniques. Everyone practices a particular technique,
and it is difficult to come to know them all. Yet in this great di-
versity we can find certain points in common, certain tendencies
and principles shared by them all. It is clumsy to call these common
features Technique with a capital T; no one would recognize his
particular technique behind this terminology. Nevertheless, it takes
account of a reality — the technical phenomenon — which is world-
wide today.

If we recognize that the method each person employs to attain
a result is in fact, his particular technique, the problem of means
is raised. In fact, technique is nothing more than means and the
ensemble of means . This, of course, does not lessen the importance
of the problem. Our civilization is first and foremost a civilization
of means; in the reality of modem life, the means, it would seem,
are more important than the ends. Any other assessment of the
situation is mere idealism.

Techniques considered as methods of operation present certain
common characteristics and certain general tendencies, but we
cannot devote ourselves exclusively to them. To do this would lead
to a more specialized study than I have in mind. The technical
phenomenon is much more complex than any synthesis of char-
acteristics common to individual techniques. If we desire to come
closer to a definition of technique, we must in fact differentiate
between the technical operation and the technical phenomenon.

The technical operation includes every operation carried out in
accordance with a certain method in order to attain a particular
end. It can be as rudimentary as splintering a flint or as compli-
cated as programming an electronic brain. In every case, it is the
method which characterizes the operation. It may be more or less
effective or more or less complex, but its nature is always the same.
It is this which leads us to think that there is a continuity in techni-
cal operations and that only the great refinement resulting from
scientific progress differentiates the modem technical operation
from the primitive one.

Every operation obviously entails a certain technique, even the

TECHNIQUES

20 )

gathering of fruit among primitive peoples — climbing the tree,
picking the fruit as quickly and with as little effort as possible, dis-
tinguishing between the ripe and the unripe fruit, and so on. How-
ever, what characterizes technical action within a particular ac-
tivity is the search for greater efficiency. Completely natural and
spontaneous effort is replaced by a complex of acts designed to im-
prove, say, the yield. It is this which prompts the creation of tech-
nical forms, starting from simple forms of activity. These technical
forms are not necessarily more complicated than the spontaneous
ones, but they are more efficient and better adapted.

Thus, technique creates means, but the technical operation still
occurs on the same level as that of the worker who does the work.
The skilled worker, like the primitive huntsman, remains a techni-
cal operator; their attitudes differ only to a small degree.

But two factors enter into the extensive field of technical opera-
tion: consciousness and judgment. This double intervention pro-
duces what I call the technical phenomenon. What characterizes
this double intervention? Essentially, it takes what was previously
tentative, unconscious, and spontaneous and brings it into the
realm of clear, voluntary, and reasoned concepts.

When Andre Leroi-Gourhan tabulates the efficiency of Zulu
swords and arrows in terms of the most up-to-date knowledge of
weaponry, he is doing work that is obviously different from that of
the swordsmith of Bechuanaland who created the form of the
sword. The swordsmith’s choice of form was unconscious and
spontaneous; although it can now be justified by numerical calcu-
lations, such calculations had no place whatever in the technical
operation he performed. But reason did, inevitably, enter into the
process because man spontaneously imitates nature in his activi-
ties. Accomplishments that merely copy nature, however, have no
future (for instance, the imitation of birds" wings from Icarus to
Ader). Reason makes it possible to produce objects in terms of
certain features, certain abstract requirements; and this in turn
leads, not to the imitation of nature, but to the ways of technique.

The intervention of rational judgment in the technical operation
has important consequences. Man becomes aware that it is possible
to find new and different means. Reason upsets pragmatic tradi-
tions and creates new operational methods and new tools; it
examines rationally the possibilities of more extensive and less rigid

The Technological Society ( % i

experimentation. Reason in these ways multiplies technical opera-
tions to a high degree of diversity. But it also operates in the op-
posite direction: it considers results and takes account of the fixed
end of technique — efficiency. It notes what every means devised
is capable of accomplishing and selects from the various means at
its disposal with a view to securing the ones that are the most
efficient, the best adapted to the desired end. Thus the multiplicity
of means is reduced to one: the most efficient And here reason
appears clearly in the guise of technique.

In addition, there is the intervention of consciousness. Conscious-
ness shows clearly, and to everybody, the advantages of technique
and what it can accomplish. The technician takes stock of alterna-
tive possibilities. The immediate result is that he seeks to apply
the new methods in fields which traditionally had been left to
chance, pragmatism, and instinct. The intervention of conscious-
ness causes a rapid and far-flung extension of technique.

The twofold intervention of reason and consciousness in the
technical world, which produces the technical phenomenon, can
be described as the quest of the one best means in every field. And
this “one best means’* is, in fact, the technical means. It is the
aggregate of these means that produces technical civilization.

The technical phenomenon is the main preoccupation of our
time; in every field men seek to find the most efficient method. But
our investigations have reached a limit. It is no longer the best
relative means which counts, as compared to other means also in
use. The choice is less and less a subjective one among several
means which are potentially applicable. It is really a question of
finding the best means in the absolute sense, on the basis of nu-
merical calculation.

It is, then, the specialist who chooses the means; he is able to
carry out the calculations that demonstrate the superiority of the
means chosen over all others. Thus a science of means comes into
being — a science of techniques, progressively elaborated.

This science extends to greatly diverse areas; it ranges from the act
of shaving to the act of organizing the landing in Normandy, or to
cremating thousands of deportees. Today no human activity es-
capes this technical imperative. There is a technique of organiza-
tiorx (the great fact of organization described by Toynbee fits very
well into this conception of the technical phenomenon), just as

22 ) TECHNIQUES

there is a technique of friendship and a technique of swimming.
Under the circumstances, it is easy to see how far we are from
confusing technique and machine. And, if we examine the broader
areas where this search for means is taking place, we find three
principal subdivisions of modem technique, in addition to the
mechanical (which is the most conspicuous but which I shall
not discuss because it is so well known) and to the forms of in-
tellectual technique (card indices, libraries, and so on).

l) Economic technique is almost entirely subordinated to pro-
duction, and ranges from the organization of labor to economic
planning. This technique differs from the others in its object and
goal. But its problems are the same as those of all other technical
activities.

%) The technique of organization concerns the great masses and
applies not only to commercial or industrial affairs of magnitude
(coming, consequently, under the jurisdiction of the economic) but
also to states and to administration and police power. This organi-
zational technique is also applied to warfare and insures the power
of an army at least as much as its weapons. Everything in the
legal field also depends on organizational technique.

3) Human technique takes various forms, ranging all the way
from medicine and genetics to propaganda (pedagogical tech-
niques, vocational guidance, publicity, etc.). Here man himself be-
comes the object of technique.

We observe, in the case of each of these subdivisions, that the
subordinate techniques may be very different in kind and not
necessarily similar one to another as techniques. They have the
same goal and preoccupation, however, and are thus related. The
three subdivisions show the wide extent of the technical phenome-
non* In fact, nothing at all escapes technique today. There is no
field where technique is not dominant — this is easy to say and is
scarcely surprising. We are so habituated to machines that there
seems to be nothing left to discover.

Has the fact of technique no intrinsic importance? Does it spring
merely from the march of time? Or does it represent a problem pe-
culiar to our times? Our discussion of the biology of technique will
bring us face to face with this question. But first we must survey in
detail the vast field which the technical phenomenon covers, in
order to become fully cognizant of what it signifies.

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(23

Historical Development

Primitive Technique , It is scarcely possible to give here a his-
tory of technique in its universal aspect, as we have just defined it
We are only now beginning to know a little of the history of me-
chanical technique. It is enough to recall the works of Andre
Leroi-Gourhan, Richard Lefebvre des Noettes, Marc Bloch, and
others. But the full history of technique has yet to be written. My
book is not a history. I shall speak in a historical vein only when it is
necessary to the understanding of the technical problem in soci-
ety today.

Technical activity is the most primitive activity of man. There is
the technique of hunting, of fishing, of food gathering; and later of
weapons, clothing, and building. And here we face a mystery.
What is the origin of this activity? It is a phenomenon which ad-
mits of no complete explanation. By patient research, one finds
areas of imitation, transitions from one technical form to another,
examples of penetration. But at the core there is a closed area—
the phenomenon of invention.

It can be shown that technique is absorbed into man's psychol-
ogy and depends upon that psychology and upon what has been
called technical motivation. But we have no explanation of how an
activity which once did not exist came to be.

How did man come to domesticate animals, to choose certain
plants to cultivate? The motivating force, we are told, was
religious , 2 and the first plants were cultivated with some magical
end in mind. This is likely, but how was the selection made? And
how did it happen that the majority of these plants were edible?
How did man come to refine metals and make bronze? Was it
chance, as the legend of the discovery of Phoenician glass has it?
This is obviously not the answer.

One is left with an enigma; and there is some point in emphasiz-
ing that there is here the same mysterious quality as in the appear-
ance of life itself. Each primitive operation of man implies the
bridging of such an enormous gulf between instinct and the techni-

* See, for example, Pierre Deffoataiaes’i Geographic dtt religion*.

TECHNIQUES

*4)

cal act that a mystic aura hovers about all subsequent develop-
ment Our modern worship of technique derives from man's
ancestral worship of the mysterious and marvelous character of
his own handiwork.

It has not been sufficiently emphasized that technique has
evolved along two distinct paths. There is the concrete
technique of homo faber — man the maker — to which we are
accustomed, and which poses the problems we have normally
studied. There is also the technique, of a more or less spiritual
order, which we call magic.

It may seem questionable; nevertheless, magic is a technique
in the strictest sense of the word, as has been clearly demonstrated
by Marcel Mauss. Magic developed along with other techniques as
an expression of man’s will to obtain certain results of a spiritual
order. To attain them, man made use of an aggregate of rites,
formulas, and procedures which, once established, do not vary.
Strict adherence to form is one of the characteristics of magic:
forms and rituals, masks which never vary, the same kind of prayer
wheels, the same ingredients for mystical drugs, for formulae for
divination, and so on. All these became set and were passed on:
the slightest variation in word or gesture would alter the magical
equilibrium.

There is a relationship between the ready-made formula and a
precise result. The gods being propitiated obey such an invocation
out of necessity; all the more reason that they be given no oppor-
tunity to escape compliance because the invocation is not correctly
formulated. This fixity is a manifestation of the technical character
of magic: when the best possible means of obtaining the desired
result has been found, why change it? Every magical means, in
the eyes of the person who uses it, is the most efficient one.

In the spiritual realm, magic displays all the characteristics
of a technique. It is a mediator between man and “the higher
powers,” just as other techniques mediate between man and matter.
It leads to efficacy because it subordinates the power of the gods
to men, and it secures a predetermined result. It affirms human
power in that it seeks to subordinate the gods to men, just as tech-
nique serves to cause nature to obey.

Magic clearly displays the characteristics of primitive technique,
as Leroi-Courhan indicates when he says that technique is a

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cloak for man, a kind of cosmic vestment. In his conflict with mat-
ter, in his struggle to survive, man interposes an intermediary
agency between himself and his environment, and this agency has
a twofold function. It is a means of protection and defense: alone
man is too weak to defend himself. It is also a means of assimilation:
through technique, man is able to utilize to his profit powers
that are alien or hostile. He is able to manipulate his surroundings
so that they are no longer merely his surroundings but become a
factor of equilibrium 'and of profit to him. Thus, as a result of tech-
nique* man transforms his adversaries into allies.

These characteristics of material technique correspond perfectly
to the characteristics of magical technique. There, also, man is in
conflict with external forces, with the world of mystery, spiritual
powers, and mystical currents. But there, too, man erects a
barrier around himself, for he would not know how to defend him-
self by his own unaided intellect He uses any means that will
serve him both for defense and for adjustment. He turns to his
own profit the hostile powers, which are obliged to obey him by
virtue of his magical formulas. Masson-Oursel, in a recent study,
confirms this. He shows that magic is basically a "scholasticism of
efficiency” which man employs as an instrument against his en-
vironment; that magic is pragmatic, yet has a precision that must
be called objective; and that its efficiency is demonstrated only in
certain "consecrations or disqualifications.” Masson-Oursel rightly
believes that magic preceded technique—in fact, that magic is the
first expression of technique.

Plainly, we have had two streams of technique from the very be-
ginning, How does it happen that we never take cognizance of the
second? There are a number of reasons. We can leave aside the
causes that come from modem psychology. Because we are ob-
sessed with materialism and do not take magic seriously, it has
little interest for us, and we are unaware even today, as we study
technique — the techniques that relate to men — that we are draw-
ing on the great stream of magical techniques.

But this neglect is due as well to objective causes: in relation to
purely material factors, it has been demonstrated that every milieu
resists imitating the techniques of another social or ethnic group.
Surely, this resistance was much stronger in the realm of magical
techniques. Here were all the taboos and prohibitions, the im-

techniques

26)

mense strength of magical conservatism. Then, too, whereas ma-
terial techniques are relatively distinct and independent of one
another, magical techniques are rapidly elaborated into a rigid
system. Everything is of a piece, everything is dependent upon
everything else; consequently, nothing can be meddled with, noth-
ing modified without threat to the whole structure of beliefs and
activities. Hence, their weak expansive power and their strong
power of defense against alien magical techniques.

The realm of magical practice is limited, and there is little or no
diffusion. Propagation begins with “spiritualist” religions which are
not bound to special magical rites. There is, then, no possibility of
choice between different rival magical techniques; yet expansion
and choice are decisive factors in technical progress. There is no
real progress in the realm of magic; here lies its fundamental dif-
ference. There is no progress in space, no progress in time; indeed,
the tendency of magic is to regress. And because magical technique
is tied to one ethnic group, to one given form of civilization, it dis-
appears completely when that group or civilization disappears.

When a civilization dies, it transmits to its heirs its material but
not its spiritual apparatus. Tools, houses, and methods of manu-
facture live on and, more or less reincarnated, are to be met with
again, There may be a temporary material regression in periods of
great destruction, but the lost ground is recovered, as if a collective
historical memory made possible the recovery of what had been
lost several generations before. But magical techniques, rites, for-
mulas, and sacrificial practices disappear irremediably. The new
civilization will fashion its own new stock of magic, which has
little in common with the old. Only a set of generalizations so broad
as to mean nothing, and overhasty analogies, create the belief that
magical forms are perpetuated and renewed. Indeed, they live on
only in the minds of the “initiates” and not in any human or social
reality.

Consequently, a magical technique that is not passed on in
time or space does not follow the same evolutionary curve as ma-
terial technique. There is not a progression of discoveries built
one upon the other; rather, discoveries remain side by side and do
not affect one another.

There is another factor in the regression of magical techniques:
the problem of evidence. In material techniques, choice is relatively

The Technological Society (27

simple. Since every technique is subordinate to its immediate result,
it is only a question of choosing the one that produces the most
satisfactory result; and, in the material domain, that result can
readily be seen. That one form of axe is superior to another is a
judgment not beyond a normal man (in spite of the extreme diffi-
culty primitive man experienced when faced with such a choice).
But with magical techniques the same certainty or force of evi-
dence does not exist. Who can judge their relative efficiency?
Magical efficiency is not always to be measured by a clear material
result such as making rain fall, but may have to do with some
purely spiritual phenomena or even with material phenomena
over a long period of time. Here matters are not clear nor the choice
easy; the difficulty becomes even more acute when we think about
the uncertainty of the reasons for failure. Was the magical tech-
nique really inefficient? Or was the one who used it incompetent?
The common reaction is to blame the magician rather than the
technique, and here again we see an element of immobility in
magic.

The two great streams of technique which we have traced from
their beginnings evolved in completely different ways. In manual
technique we observe an increase and later a multiplication of dis-
coveries, each based on the other. In magic we see only endless
new beginnings, as the fortunes of history and its own inefficiency
call its procedures into question.

Explanation becomes even more difficult when we note that in
the magical domain too our own era has achieved an overwhelming
superiority; our magical techniques have become really effective.
These techniques obviously must not be confused with religious
life or anything of that kind. This is purely a social phenomenon,
both in aim and in form. However, the two aspects of technique,
although both are social, are sharply separated, and would seem
to have interacted very little anywhere.

Greece . Technique is essentially Oriental: it was principally in the
Near East that technique first developed, and it had very little
in the way of scientific foundation. It was entirely directed toward
practical application and was not concerned with general theories,
which alone can give rise to scientific movements. This predomi-
nance of technique in the East points up an error which is found
throughout Western thought: that the Oriental mind is turned

2$) TECHNIQUES

toward the mystical and has no interest in concrete action, whereas
the Western mind is oriented toward "know-how* and action, and
hence toward technique. In fact, the East was the cradle of all
action, of all past and primitive technique in the present sense of
the word, and later of spiritual and magical technique as well.

The Greeks, however, were the first to have a coherent scientific
activity and to liberate scientific thought. But then a phenomenon
occurred which still astonishes historians: the almost total separa-
tion of science and technique. Doubtless, this separation was less
absolute than the example of Archimedes has led historians to
believe. But it is certain that material needs were treated with con-
tempt, that technical research was considered unworthy of the in-
tellect, and that the goal of science was not application but con-
templation. Plato shunned any compromise with application, even
in order to forward scientific research. For him, only the most ab-
stract possible exercise of reason was important. Archimedes went
even further. True, he rationalized practice and even made "appli-
cations” to a certain degree; but his machine was to be destroyed
after it had demonstrated the exactness of his numerical reckon-
ings.

Why did the Greeks adopt this Malthusian attitude toward ac-
tivity? There are two possible answers: either they were not willing
or they were not able. And it is likely that both are true. Abel Rey
has devoted the fifth volume of his Science Technique to the
Greeks, According to him, Greece in her decline became “in-
capable of sustaining the ideal of hard, disinterested labor (the
ideal of an essentially contemplative intelligence disdainful of all
utility). She then fell back on the techniques of the East She
was involved in them by her own techniques, for she had none the
less sought to satisfy men’s vital needs, in spite of the contempt in
which she held them.” Confronted with technical necessity, Greece
lost her inventive genius and turned to Eastern technique. She did
not know, says Abel Rey, how to find the bridge between “know-
how* and 'know- why.”

This is true for the period of decadence, the second and first
centuries b.c., but it does not seem to be the case in the preceding
period; in the fifth century B.C., Greece experienced rapid technical
development, although later it came to an abrupt halt.

In their golden age of science, the Greeks could have deduced

The Technological Society ( % $

the technical consequences of their scientific activity. But they did
not wish to. Walter asks: “Did the Greeks, obsessed with harmony,
check themselves at the very point at which inquiry ran the risk of
going to excess and threatened to introduce a monstrosity into their
civilization?"

This was the result of a variety of factors, most of which were of
a philosophic nature. For one thing, theirs was a conception of life
which scorned material needs and the improvement of practical
life, discredited manual labor (because of the practice of slavery),
held contemplation to be the goal of intellectual activity, refused
the use of power, respected natural things. The Greeks were
suspicious of technical activity because it represented an aspect of
brute force and implied a want of moderation. Man, however
humble his technical equipment, has from the very beginning
played the role of sorcerer s apprentice in relation to the machine.
This feeling on the part of the Greeks was not a reflection of a
primitive man's fear in the face of something he does not under-
stand ( the explanation given today when certain persons take fright
at our techniques). Rather, it was the result, perfectly mastered
and perfectly measured, of a certain conception of life. It repre-
sented an apex of civilization and intelligence.

Here we find the supreme Greek virtue, lyp&ru* (self-control).
The rejection of technique was a deliberate, positive activity in-
volving self-mastery, recognition of destiny, and the application of
a given conception of life. Only the most modest techniques were
permitted — those which would respond directly to material needs
in such a way that these needs did not get the upper hand.

In Greece a conscious effort was made to economize on means
and to reduce the sphere of influence of technique. No one sought
to apply scientific thought technically, because scientific thought
corresponded to a conception of life, to wisdom. The great
occupation of the Greeks was balance, harmony and moderation;
hence, they fiercely resisted the unrestrained force inherent in
technique, and rejected it because of its potentialities. For these
same reasons, magic had relatively little importance in Greece.
Rome * Social technique was still in its infancy. Doubtless, there
had been some attempts at social organization — those of certain
Pharaohs, and those of the Persian empire, were not neglibible.
But such organizations could be maintained only by police power.

30 ) TECHNIQUES

whereas the exact opposite is true of genuine social organization.
By the very fact of its existence, coercion demonstrates the ab-
sence of political, administrative, and juridical technique; for this
reason the great empires of the past are of little importance to our
study. Correlatively, an army (even the army of the Chaldeans,
who advanced the art of war furthest ) was a fairly inorganic crew
whose aim was pillage and which applied no social technique. The
army of Alexander made use of genuine strategy, but this was al-
most exclusively military and had no sociological foundations or
attributes. It was the expression not of a people but of a state — and
therefore lacked the substance necessary to technique.

In Rome, however, we pass on, at one step, to the perfection of
social technique, both civil and military. Everything in Roman so-
ciety was related to Roman law in its multiple forms, both public
and private.

To characterize the technique of this law in the period during
which it flourished (from the second century b.c. to the second
century a.d.), we can say first of all that it was not the fruit of ab-
stract thought, but rather of an exact view of the concrete situation,
which the Romans attempted to turn to account with the fewest
possible means. This realism respected justice and acknowledged
history and necessity. From this concrete, experimental view,
which the Romans held consciously, their administrative and judi-
cial technique developed. And a kind of discipline appeared: the
use of a minimum of means. This discipline, which probably had
its foundations in religion, is one of the secrets of the whole de-
velopment To the degree that the Roman had to respond to neces-
sity, and at the same time not permit himself excessive luxury, it
was necessary to refino *»very means, to bring it to perfection, to
exploit it in every possible way, and to give it free rein, without
shackling it with exceptions and secondary rules. No social situa-
tion developed which did not immediately find its response in or-
ganization. Nor could this response be the creation of a new means,
but rather the perfection of an old means. Indeed, the proliferation
of means is thought even today to denote technological weakness.

A second element in the Roman development of organization
was the search for an equilibrium between the purely technical
factor and the human factor. Judicial technique did not begin as a
substitute for man. In Roman judicial technique there was no

The Technological Society (31

question of eliminating initiative and responsibility, but rather of
allowing them to operate and to assert themselves. It was not until
the third century a.d. that judicial technique attempted to deal
with the details of life, to regulate everything, to foresee everything,
thereby leaving the individual in a state of complete inertia. But
the great judicial era of Rome was one of equilibrium; the law
laid down the framework and supplied the means that men could
use in following their own initiative. Of course, this presupposed
a civic sense corresponding to the technical conception. The
equilibrium between the two was evident in the system of pro-
cedure we call bureaucracy; in it is found, with an almost dis-
concerting simplicity, the perfect type of procedure. And there we
find that one of the conditions of technique is respect for the in'
dividual, who is not yet considered apart from society.

A third characteristic of Roman technique was that it was di-
rected toward a precise end: the internal coherence of society. This
technique was not self -justifying, it did not have as its raison d'&re
its own self -development, and it was not imposed from the out-
side. It was not a kind of scaffolding which held independent ele-
ments together; it sought rather to promote cohesion. The founda-
tion of society was not the police; it was an organization which
enabled society to make the least possible use of the police. A
wide variety of techniques — religious, administrative, and finan-
cial — were obviously needed to execute this design, but in no case
was there recourse to force. When it appeared that the state
would be compelled to use force, the organizational sense of the
Romans led them to abandon a given project rather than attempt
to maintain it by force. Force is never economical, and Rome was
economical in all things.

This social coherence was the first judicial technique the world
Had knowa It was also the basis for the Roman military system,
which was a direct expression of civil society in that it had the same
respect for efficiency and economy. From it came the development
of organs of transport, food supply, and so on; and the Roman con-
ception of mass strategy and their refusal to create heroes: combat
was thus reduced to its most utilitarian level.

A fourth element was continuity. The judicial technique of the
Romans was constantly being readapted in accordance with a his-
torical plan. It involved a policy of watchful waiting while circum-

3 * ) TECHNIQUES

stances were not propitious, at the same time making preparations
for the right moment, and when that moment came, carrying out
the plan decisively.

As regards material techniques, the Romans did not develop
them as brilliantly. From the fourth to the first century b.c., and
after the second century a.d., there was almost total stagnation —
tools and armaments no longer evolved. But from the first century
B.C. to the first century a.d., a technical revival took place. Practical
necessity (on the economic and military levels and with regard to
transport) was met by the production of animal-powered ma-
chines (forges, water wheels, pumps, plows, the screw press,
cord-operated ballistic engines, etc. ).

The Romans possessed a remarkable understanding of applica-
bility. Their judicial system could be applied always and every-
where (in the Empire); it was adapted to an unfailing continuity.
And these were totally new phenomena which Rome introduced.
Later, Rome was allowed to drift into a technical vertigo; the end
was near.

Christianity and Technique . The East : passive, fatalist, contemptu-
ous of life and action; the West: active, conquering, turning nature
to profit. These contrasts, so dear to popular sociology, are said
to result from a difference in religion : Buddhism and Islam on the
one hand; on the other, Christianity, which is credited with having
forged the practical soul of the West.

These ideas are hardly beyond the level of the rote repetitions
found even in the works of serious historians. It is not for me to
examine religious doctrines in themselves or as absolute if unreal-
ized dogma, but rather to interpret them sociologically. After all, I
am not writing theology; I am writing history. And there is a world
of difference between dogma and its sociological application. (I
shall not touch upon the personal interpretation of religion, which
concerns the relationship between the individual and God. )

. This being the case, it is obvious that certain statements call for
modification. For example, the assertion that as a consequence of
the teachings of Mohammed, the Islamic conquests of the seventh
century are evidence of passivism. This might also be said of the
determined Islamic resistance to Western encroachments during
the last two centuries. We attribute to Buddhist indifferentism the
remarkable artistic, political, and military development in India

The Technological Society (33

from the second to the fifth century. In fact, however, these civili-
zations were little advanced technically, though they had de-
veloped in many other areas.

Christianity in Russia, on the other hand, gave rise to a mystical
civilization which was indifferent to material life and had no
technical drive and no interest in economic exploitation, “Ah, yesr
is the reply. “But Christianity in Russia had Eastern overtones . . *
Here, then, indifference to technique would appear to be a ques-
tion of temperament and not of religion.

Another embarrassing fact: when in her decline Greece applied
herself to technical inquiry and the development of industry, she
looked to the East for methods. And in the first century, when
Rome — the perfect example of the technical spirit in antiquity —
took up industry, she too turned to the East for industrial tech-
niques — the refining of silver and gold, glassmaking, the tempering
of weapons, pottery, ship construction, and so on. All these tech-
niques came to Rome from the East, either early, through the
Etruscans, or much later, after the conquests. We are far indeed
from being able to support this traditional cleavage between East
and West. In fact, during classical antiquity it was the East which
possessed the concrete, inventive mind that grasps the truth and
exploits it.

The West is making a prodigious advance in technique at the
present, and the West is traditionally Christian. Nor can it be main-
tained that Christianity is a negligible factor in that advance. How-
ever, there were several distinct historical periods in the West. The
West was officially Christian until the fourteenth century; there-
after, Christianity became controversial and was breached by other
influences. What do we find, from a technical standpoint, in the
so-called Christian era, the period from the fourth to the fourteenth
centuries, the “sociological moment*? First, we observe the break-
down of Roman technique in every area — on the level of organiza-
tion as well as in the construction of cities, in industry, and in
transport From the fourth to the tenth centuries, in fact, there was
a complete obliteration of technique, a condition so deplored that
it became a focus of anti-Christian polemic, and rightly so. It was
because the Christians held judicial and other technical activity in
such contempt that they were considered the “enemies of the hu-
man race” — and not only because they opposed Caesar. The re-

TECHNIQUES

34 )

proach of Celsus was not without truth. After the Christian triumph
in Rome, there was not one great jurist left who could guarantee
the life and the value of the Roman organization. Decadence? No
—complete disinterest in such activity. Saint Augustine devoted
much of his De Civitate Dei to justifying the Christians in this
respect, and to denying that their influence was detrimental, "They
are good citizens,” he proclaimed. That may have been so, but
their focus of interest was nevertheless on something other than
the state and practical activity. I shall show later on that the
technical state of mind is one of the principal causes of technical
progress.

It is not a coincidence that Rome declined as Christianity tri-
umphed. The Emperor Julian was certainly justified in accusing
the Christians of ruining the industry of the Empire.

After this period of decadence (for which, of course, Christianity
was not solely responsible), what does the historian find? The res-
toration, under Christian influence, of an active civilization —
methodical, exploiting the riches of the world as a gift given by
God to be put to good use? Not at alL The society which developed
from the tenth to the fourteenth century was vital, coherent, and
unanimous; but it was characterized by a total absence of the tech-
nical will. It was “a-capitalistic” as well as "a-technical.”

From the point of view of organization, it was an anarchy in the
etymological sense of the word — and it was completely nontechni-
cal. Its law was principally based on custom. It had no social or
political organization based on reasoned, elaborated rules. In all
other areas — for example, in agriculture and industry — there was
the same nearly total absence of technique. This was also true with
regard to the military, the principal activity of the time. Combat
was reduced to its most elementary — to charging in a straight line
and to hand-to-hand engagement. Only architectural technique
developed and asserted itself; but this was prompted not by a
technical state of mind but by religious impulse.

Little effort was made to improve agricultural or industrial prac-
tices. There was no effort at useful creation — evidence of the re-
markable practical genius of the Christian religion! And when at
the beginning of the twelfth century, at first very feebly a technical
movement began to take form, it developed under the influence of
the East.

The Technological Society ( 3 5

The technical impetus of our civilization came from the East, at
first through the intermediacy of the Judaei 8 and the Venetians,
and later through the Crusades. But even so, it limited itself to
imitating what it had seen— except in art Certain autonomous dis-
coveries did take place, especially as a result of commercial neces-
sity; but this development was no more intense than it had been
under the Roman Empire.

In fact, the Middle Ages created only one new, complete tech-
nique, an intellectual technique, a mode of reasoning: scholasti-
cism. The very name evokes its mediocrity. With its gigantic ap-
paratus, it was in the end nothing but an extremely cumbersome
formalism; it wandered for centuries in intellectual blind alleys,
notwithstanding the prodigious intellects of the men who used it
and were deformed by it The balance sheet shows no triumphs,
even on the historical plane.

The technical movement of the West developed in a world which
had already withdrawn from the dominant influence of Christian-
ity. A point can doubtless be made of the effects of the Reformation,
but the economic consequences of this movement have been singu-
larly exaggerated. In any case, this is not the place to take up this
question.

Although, practically speaking, it seems clear that Christianity
was scarcely an important cause of technical progress (not to men-
tion regression), it is nevertheless customary to hold that Chris-
tianity, from the theological point of view, paved the way for
technical development.

Let us consider the two arguments advanced for this point of
view. First, and most important, it is held that Christianity sup-
pressed slavery, the great obstacle to technical development. The
moment men are free, they supposedly turn toward technique to be
delivered from the misery of labor. Slavery was thus a hindrance
to technique because no attempt was made either to relieve the
miserable condition of the slave or to replace him by some other
motive force. The second argument is more intelligent: that an-
tiquity was possessed of a holy fear of nature, and dared not lay
hand on the secrets which to the ancients were gods. They dared
not make use of natural forces, which for them were supernatural.

A particular kind of trader. (Trans.)

TECHNIQUES

36)

Christianity secularized nature: with Christianity nature once
again became simply nature and no one scrupled to exploit it.
Unfortunately, however, neither of these arguments is quite ac-
curate.

There was in fact greater technical progress in civilizations where
slavery was prevalent (for example, Egypt) than in others where
that institution was practically unknown (for example, Israel).
There was greater technical progress in the slaveholding period of
Homan history than in the period when slaves were freed whole-
sale. And the liberation of the slaves during the era of the barbarian
invasions produced no technical improvement, even at long term;
almost seven centuries elapsed between the suppression of slavery
and the beginning of even a feeble technical advance. The rela-
tion between technique and the absence of slavery is in no sense
absolute; as Bertrand Gille has rightly pointed out, human trans-
port by means of slaves was not known in Roman antiquity; yet
the harnessing of animals had not been developed.

We have here one of those facile, impressive, and altogether
antihistorical explanations which theorists are so fond of. The
slave, in fact, represented capital which it was not in the owner's
interest to lose or to use haphazardly. And, as the elder Cato indi-
cates, had it been possible to make the slave's labor more efficient
and less fatiguing, his master had every interest in doing so. More-
over, it did not cost anything to make use of the free men who lived
on the vast domains of the public treasury or the Umes or the
Marches , 4 and later, on the ecclesiastical and seignorial lands.
Certainly, it was not respect for human life which prompted the
Romans to spare these people. And the people themselves scarcely
possessed the freedom of mind or the material possibilities to im-
prove their techniques. Gille has shown admirably that in Athens
the Greek slaves may have had greater value than the free work-
men.

The second argument is no more applicable. It is true that Chris-
tianity secularized nature. But did this benefit technique? We
have noted, in passing, the religious origin of many forms of tech-
nique; indeed, nature, as the theater of spiritual forces, gives rise
to one particular teclinique already mentioned; magic. One of the

•The limes designated die Empire's boundary regions to the north; the Marches,
the Scottish and Welsh border areas. ( Trans. )

The Technological Society (37

goals of magic is to render the gods propitious to practical action
and to put the “powers” at the service of material technique. The
representation of nature as inhabited by the gods was itself a
potent act, and favorable, if not to all applications, certainly to
technique itself. Taboos applied only to certain concrete applica-
tions which were determined by ideas of right and wrong. Man
thus felt that his actions were justified by the help given him by
the gods of nature. Christianity, however, deprived him of this
justification.

What was the doctrinal position of early Christianity regarding
practical activity, from the very beginning? On the moral plane,
Christianity condemned luxury and money — in short, everything
that represented the earthly city, which was consecrated to Satan
and opposed to the City of God. This was the era of the anchorite,
of the renunciation of city life, of cenobitism presented as an ideal.
The tendency was toward the restriction of economic life. On the
theological plane, there was the conviction that the world was ap-
proaching its end, that it was useless to strive to develop or cultivate
it, for the Lord was soon to return. It was wiser to be concerned
with eschatology than with worldly affairs.

At the beginning of the medieval period, these doctrines lost
some of their hold (although they persisted under other guises —
the feeling about death, for instance). But another element of
Christianity remained which was opposed to technical develop-
ment: the moral judgment which Christians passed on all human
activities.

Technical activity did not escape Christian moral judgment The
question “Is it righteous?” was asked of every attempt to change
modes of production or of organization. That something might be
useful or profitable to men did not make it right and just. It had to
fit a precise conception of justice before God. When an element
of technique appeared to be righteous from every point of view,
it was adopted, but even then with excessive caution. Only inven-
tions (representing a choice among techniques made by individ-
uals versed in Greek or Latin) judged worthy were applied or
even allowed to become known. It was within this narrow compass
that certain monks propagated and improved technical instru-
ments. The spread of the hydraulic mill by the Cistercians is well
known; likewise the many specialized mills to be found at the

3 8 ) TECHNIQUES

Abbey of Royaumont (the smiths mill, the fuller's mill, etc.). But
these exceptions were few.

The search for justice before God, the measuring of technique
by other criteria than those of technique itself — these were the
great obstacles that Christianity opposed to technical progress.
They operated in the Middle Ages in all areas of life, and made
history coincide with theology.

The age of the Reformation, in its effort to return to the most
primitive conception of Christianity, broke down many barriers.
But, even then, it was not so much from the influence of the new
theology as from the shock of the Renaissance, from humanism
and the authoritarian state, that technique received a decisive im-
petus.

The Sixteenth Century . In the period from the sixteenth to the
eighteenth century the absence of technique in all areas but the
mechanical is striking. There was an absence of human reasoning
concerning action, of efforts directed toward simplification and
systematization, and of concern for efficiency. Certain important
technical achievements were made — for example, guns and gun
factories — and there was some agricultural research. But it is sig-
nificant that histories of technique (Pierre Ducasses, for ex-
ample) leap from the Middle Ages to the end of the eighteenth
century. Indeed, the period which followed the Renaissance and
the Reformation was much less fertile in invention than the period
which had preceded them.

Printing, the nautical compass, gunpowder (also copied from
the East), all date from the fifteenth century. It would not do to
minimize the importance of these inventions. For Norbert Wiener,
they “constitute the loons of an industrial revolution wliich pre-
ceded the principal industrial revolution.” Wiener, in a remarkable
way, relates the principal inventions of this period to navigation,
which, he proposes, was the propulsive force behind research.
Alongside these major inventions, this period also saw a multitude
of discoveries and new applications in banking, armaments, ma-
chinery, architecture (for example, the discovery of a new system
for constructing the dome, as applied to Sainte-Marie-des-Fleurs ) ,
and in agriculture and the making of furniture.

The fifteenth century, in addition, is notable for a number of
technical manuals from southern Germany and northern Italy

The Technological Society ( 3 9

( written at the beginning of the century and printed and circulated
at the end of it). These show a general interest in these problems, a
technical preoccupation on the part of the men of the times. The
great voyages were probably a consequence rather than a cause of
this technical progress.

But this technical drive slackened during the sixteenth century,
which became poorer and poorer in technique, and technical weak'
ness persisted through the seventeenth century and into the be-
ginning of the eighteenth. This poverty of technical achievement,
which lasted two centuries, leads us once more to question the
influence of the Reformation. What caused this slowdown of tech-
nical progress after the fifteenth century, which had been so rich
in discoveries of all kinds?

An uninitiated reader who opens a scientific treatise on law, econ-
omy, medicine, or history published between the sixteenth and the
eighteenth centuries is struck most forcibly by the complete ab-
sence of logical order. The materials are treated successively with-
out any connection, progression of thought, development, or show
of proof. The reader is apparently to be guided only by the au-
thor’s fancy. Every chapter in a scientific work, say, of the sixteenth
century, is a self-contained unit which justifies and proves itself.
A mere affirmation by the author generally serves as proof. And he
lets himself go in a free association of ideas which are in no way
pertinent to the subject; his thoughts often wend off to matters
completely unconnected with the subject of the book.

Purely personal reflection and private experience form the foun-
dations of these books; in no sense do they represent an effort at
common inquiry, reciprocal control, or search for the best method,
all of which are indispensable for technique. The plan of a book
was not laid out with the reader in mind; it was not based on
subject matter, but rather on the personal fancy of the author, or
on more obscure reasonings. Even men of powerful intellect such
as Jean Bodin did not escape these failings.

A second characteristic of this scientific literature is that it at-
tempts to set down in one book the whole realm of knowledge. It
is not rare to find, in works on law in the sixteenth or seventeenth
centuries, extended treatments of archaeology, theology, psy-
chology, and linguistics, not to mention history and literature. En-
tire chapters concerned with magical practices or Peruvian soci-

TECHNIQUES

4 °)

ology may interrupt the course of a book devoted to revenues or to
the jurisprudence of the Parliament of Bordeaux*

This amalgam of reflections and miscellaneous bits of knowledge
is found in the works of the best authors; it demonstrates the ab-
sence of intellectual specialization. The intellectual ideal was uni-
versality, and it was a rare thing for a judge, say, to be ignorant
of alchemy, or a historian, of medicine. This was, in effect, an
extension by humanism of the universalism to which medieval
theology aspired.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries every intellectual had
perforce to be a universalist. He had to have complete knowledge,
and when he wrote on a given subject he felt constrained to put
into the work everything he knew, pertinent or not. This was by
no means a sign of muddleheadedness but rather of the prevailing
search for a synthesized, universal system of knowledge. Every
author sought to put his whole self into his work, even in the case
of a technical book. Not the subject but the author dominated the
work; this tendency itself is contrary to technical inquiry. The
search was not for practical knowledge but for a comprehensive
explication of phenomena. Thus Descartes, after having established
an impeccable method of reasoning, gives himself over to the out-
pourings of his imagination in order to explain — to take a single
example — the movements of the tides.

This explains another characteristic of the books written after
the century of humanism: their lack of convenience. We find few
tables of contents, no references, no division into sections, no
indices, no chronology, sometimes not even pagination. The ap-
paratus standard for scientific works today is not found even rudi-
mentarily in the most perfect works of the period; and its absence
is characteristic of ihe absence of intellectual technique. The books
of the time were not written to be used, along with hundreds of
others, to locate a piece of information accurately and quickly, or
to validate or invalidate an experiment, or to furnish a formula.
They were not written to be consulted. They were written to be
read patiently in their entirety and to be meditated upon. Again,
this goes back to the ideal of universality.

The presentation of a book as an author's entire self, as a per-
sonal expression of his very being, supposes that the reader sought
in it not the solution of a given difficulty or the answer to a given

The Technological Society ( 41

problem, but rather to make personal contact with the author. It
was more a question of a personal exchange than of taking an ob-
jective position. \

This applies to every other field of endeavor until the eighteenth
century. Thus, in the simplest technical form, the mechanical, no
decisive progress was made during this time ( unless Pascal were to
be considered the sole exception; but even Pascal merely extended
already known techniques). The same holds true for financial, ad-
ministrative, and military techniques, in spite of what Vauban says
to the contrary.

Then an intermediate situation developed. But despite the efforts
at co-ordination and systematization made by such great techni-
cians as Richelieu and Colbert, the only result was a greater com-
plication of the system, without much gain in efficiency. On the ad-
ministrative and political level, all the new organs ( each valuable
in itself and without doubt efficient, but representing only an addi-
tion to what already existed) had to take into consideration every
other organ already functioning in the same field. New complicated
departments, jurisdictions, and hierarchies unceasingly weighed
down the machinery. On the financial plane, the same monstrous
growth occurred — for valid reasons — but it resulted in enfeeble-
ment beneath a seeming efficiency. There was no change in finan-
cial technique, in spite of all the efforts of Colbert, who saw what
should be done. There was no change in the technique of recruit-
ment, supply, and administration of the army, in spite of the efforts
of Louvois, who saw just as clearly what had to be done. Louis XIV
was an impotent monarch, despite his authority, because of the
absence of technical means.

Society was at a crossroads. More and more the need was felt to
create new means; even the structure these must take was clearly
perceived. But the framework of society, the ideas in currency, the
intellectual positions of the day were not favorable to their realiza-
tion. It was necessary to employ technical means in a framework
foreign to them; these techniques were powerless to force a deci-
sion or to eliminate outmoded means. They ran up against the
profound humanism, issue of Renaissance humanism, which still
haunted the seventeenth century — it believed not only in knowl-
edge and respect for the human being but in the genuine su-
premacy of man over means. This humanism, bound up with the

42) TECHNIQUES

idea of universalism, did not allow techniques to grow. Men re-
fused to conform to any uniform law, even when it operated for
their own good. This refusal was found in all strata of society: in
the most complex way when finance directors and parliamentary
counselors refused to utilize new and precise techniques of ac-
counting and legislative supremacy; in the most summary way
when the peasants rejected new and rational methods of recruit-
ment proposed for the army.

The world had to wait for the eighteenth century to see techni-
cal progress suddenly explode in every country and in every area
of human endeavor.

The Industrial Revolution . The term industrial revolution is ap-
plied exclusively to the development of machinery, but that is to
see only one side of it. In actual fact, the industrial revolution was
merely one aspect of the technical revolution. It is preposterous
that a specialist such as Lewis Mumford can write that he has found
in the various modes of exploiting energy the key to the evolution
of technique and the moving force behind its transformations. In
his view, a first period, which lasted until about 1750, knew only
hydraulic energy; a second period, from 1750 to 1880, is the age
of coal; and a third, that of electricity. (The use of nuclear energy
has only recently appeared; it is perhaps to be reckoned as part
of the age of electricity. )

Mumford’s thesis is incomprehensible unless technique is re-
stricted to the machine ; Mumford actually makes this identifica-
tion. His distinction is then valid as a plan for the historical study
of machines, but it is totally invalid for the study of technical
civilization. When technical civilization is considered as a whole,
this classification and explanation are shockingly summary and
superficial. Norbert Wiener likewise rejects the classification
founded on the different sources of energy. For him there has been
only one industrial revolution, and that consisted in the replace-
ment of human muscle as a source of energy. And, he adds, there
is a second revolution in the making whose object is the replace-
ment of the human brain. Of this last we have as yet only prepara-
tions and indications. We are not yet there. What we are witnessing
at the moment is a rearrangement of the world in an intermediate
stage; the change is not in the use of a natural force but in the
application of technique to all spheres of life.

The Technological Society ( 4 3

The technical revolution meant the emergence of a state that was
truly conscious of itself and was autonomous in relation to anything
that did not serve its interests — a product of the French Revolu-
tion. It entailed the creation of a precise military technique ( Fred-
erick the Great and Napoleon) in the field of strategy and in the
fields of organization, logistics, and recruitment; the beginning of
economic technique with the physiocrats, and later the liberals. In
administration and police power, it was the period of rationalized
systems, unified hierarchies, card indices, and regular reports.
With Napoleon particularly, there was a tendency toward mecha-
nization which resulted from the application of technique to more
or less human spheres of action.

The revolution also entailed the exertion and the regrouping of
all the national energies. There were to be no more loafers ( under
the French Revolution, they were imprisoned), no more privileged
persons, no special interests. Everyone must serve in accordance
with the strictures of technique.

From the judicial point of view, the technical revolution entailed
the great systematization of law in the Napoleonic codes and the
definitive suppression of spontaneous sources of law; for example,
custom. It involved the unification of legal institutions under the
iron rule of the state and the submission of law to policy. And
throughout Europe, except in Great Britain, the nations, amazed
by such an efficient operation, abandoned their traditional judicial
systems in favor of the state.

This systematization, unification, and clarification was applied
to everything — it resulted not only in the establishment of budget-
ary rules and in fiscal organization, but in the systematization of
weights and measures and the planning of roads. All this repre-
sented technique at work. From this point of view, it might be said
that technique is the translation into action of mans concern to
master things by means of reason, to account for what is subcon-
scious, make quantitative what is qualitative, make clear and pre-
cise the outlines of nature, take hold of chaos and put order into it

In intellectual activity the same effort was evident, particularly in
the creation of an intellectual technique for history and biology.
The principles established by Descartes were applied and resulted
not only in a philosophy but in an intellectual technique.

These phenomena are so far from being sources of energy that it

44 ) TECHNIQUE#

can scarcely be maintained that mechanical transformation
brought about all the rest. In fact, the widespread mechanical de-
velopment, spurred by the exploitation of energy, came after most
of these other techniques. It would almost seem that the order was
reversed, that the appearance of these other techniques was nec-
essary to the evolution of the machine — which certainly had no
greater influence on society than, say, the organization of the
police.

The revolution resulted not from the exploitation of coal but
rather from a change of attitude on the part of the whole civiliza-
tion. Here we are faced with a most difficult question: Why, after
such slow progress for centuries, did such an eruption of technical
progress take place in a century and a half? Why, at a certain
moment in history, did something become possible which had not
seemed possible before? We must confess that the ultimate reason
escapes us. Why did inventions suddenly burst forth in the second
half of the eighteenth century? We cannot say. Here we are at the
center of the mystery of invention, which strangely came to life for
this brief moment.

The inventions of the nineteenth century are much more easily
explained. A kind of chain reaction was set up: the discoveries
made at the beginning of the century generated those that followed.
There was a logical and foreseeable succession of events, once the
first steps had been taken.

But why were the first steps taken? We will never know, and, in
any case, that is not the purpose of this investigation. We ask
rather why technical inventions have proliferated so radically and
developed to the point where they threaten to engulf society. Why
did the limitless applicability of the sciences become a reality
when hitherto it had been restrained and equivocal? The Greeks
knew that machines could be utilized; why did it devolve upon the
nineteenth century to utilize them? The question, indeed, is why
the nineteenth century not only made applications but did so on
such a grand scale. Leonardo da Vinci' invented a prodigious num-
ber of useful devices ( the alarm clock, the silk- winder, a machine
for carding textile fabrics, and so on), and proposed many technical
improvements (double-hulled ships, the universal joint, conical
gears, etc.). Why did none of his inventions and improvements
find practical application?

The Technological Society (45

There are a number of general answers. One can relate everything
to scientific progress, for example. The eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries saw advances in application, not in pure knowledge or in
speculation. It is useless to recount the scientific evolution of this
period or to enumerate the sensational series of principles and laws
formulated and applied at this time. Parenthetically, it might be
noted that the scientific revolution began as early as the first half
of the seventeenth century. Experiments were then performed to
prove the exactness of quantitative hypotheses. Moreover, a psy-
chological transformation occurred which led to the consideration
of phenomena as worthy of study in themselves. This prepared the
way for technical progress, but it cannot explain it. These scientific
discoveries represent necessary conditions — but not imperatives.
It is evident that applications are impossible without principles, but,
once principles have been established, applications do not neces-
sarily follow. Applications may be made out of simple curiosity, at
among the Greeks or among the makers of automatons in the
eighteenth century. (These automatons were not without experi-
mental value. Research in cybernetics today likewise ends in the
making of automatons. )

The close link between scientific research and technical inven-
tion appears to be a new factor in the nineteenth century. Accord-
ing to Mumford, ‘‘the principal initiatives came, not from the
inventor-engineer, but from the scientist who established the gen-
eral law." The scientist took cognizance both of the new raw ma-
terials which were available and of the new human needs which
had to be met Then he deliberately oriented his research toward a
scientific discovery that could be applied technically. And he did
this either out of simple curiosity or because of definite commercial
and industrial demands. Pasteur, for instance, was encouraged in
his bacteriological research by wine producers and silkworm grow-
ers.

In the twentieth century, this relationship between scientific re-
search and technical invention resulted in the enslavement of
science to technique. In the nineteenth century, however, science
was still the determining cause of technical progress. The society of
the eighteenth century was not yet mature enough to allow the sys-
tematic development of inventions. As Siegfried Giedion says, the
France of that period was a testing ground. Ideas proliferated but

46 ) TECHNIQUES

could take no final form until society had undergone a transforma-
tion.

What distinguishes the eighteenth century is that applications
were made for reasons of utility; soon the only justification of science
was applicability. Most historians of technique content themselves
with invoking philosophy to explain this.

The philosophy of the eighteenth century did indeed favor tech-
nical applications. It was naturalistic and sought not only to know
but also to exploit nature. It was utilitarian and pragmatic. It con-
cerned itself with easing human life, with bringing more pleasure
into it and simplifying its labor. For the eighteenth century, man's
life was narrowly confined to the material; it seemed evident that
the problem of life would be resolved when men were able to work
less while consuming more. The goal of science thus appeared to
be fixed by philosophy.

This philosophy was concrete; it was bound up with material re-
sults. What cannot be seen cannot be judged, and this explains this
century's judgment of history; that the foundation of civilizations
is technique, not philosophy or religion.

For these admirable philosophers, technique had the enormous
superiority of manifesting itself in a concrete way and of leaving its
tracks for all to read. Voltaire and Diderot were its principal ex-
ponents. But I am unable to give this philosophy the highest place
in the history of the development of techniques. It played a role,
but it was not the prime force behind the technical movement.
To say it was would be to exaggerate the force of these philosophic
ideas and systems, which affected only a small minority of French-
men and a minute elite abroad. The technical movement was a
Eurovean movement; the ideas of these philosophic minorities
could scarcely have penetrated Europe in such a way as to make
evident to everyone the excellence of technical progress. We have
only to recall popular reactions to machinery — for example, to
Vaucansons loom, to the first steamboat, and to the first blast fur-
naces. These philosophic ideas scarcely suffice to explain the re-
markable mobilization of all human forces in the nineteenth cen-
tury.

It is even questionable whether this philosophy was universally
accepted. At other times there have been utilitarian currents in
philosophy, but they represented only one branch of philosophy

The Technological Society ( 4 7

among several and did not lead to such a radical transformation of
society.

The optimistic atmosphere of the eighteenth century, more than
this philosophy, created a climate favorable to the rise of technical
applications. The fear of evil diminished. There was an improve-
ment in manners; a softening of the conditions of war; an increasing
sense of man’s responsibility for his fellows; a certain delight in
life, which was greatly increased by the improvement of living
conditions in nearly all classes except the artisan; the building of
fine houses in great numbers. All these helped persuade Europeans
that progress could only be achieved by the exploitation of natural
resources and the application of scientific discoveries.

This state of mind created, in the second half of the eighteenth
century, a land of good conscience on the part of scientists who de-
voted their research to practical objectives. They believed that hap-
piness and justice would result from their investigations; and it is
here that the myth of progress had its beginning.

It is clear that this atmosphere was favorable to technical de-
velopment. But, in itself, it was not enough. How, then, are we to
explain the sudden blossoming of technique in the nineteenth cen-
tury? (The eighteenth century was only the preliminary phase of
technical application; the nineteenth century is the really interest-
ing period.) I feel that this transformation of civilization can be
explained by the conjunction in time of five phenomena: the frui-
tion of a long technical experience; population expansion; the suit-
ability of the economic environment; the plasticity of the social
milieu; and the appearance of a clear technical intention.

The first of these factors must not be neglected: every modem
technical application had ancestors. Arthur Vierendeel and Lewis
Mumford have analyzed these preparations. Every invention has
its roots in a preceding technical period, and every period bears in
itself “not only the trivial residue but also the valuable survivals of
past technologies, and the nuclei of new ones.” What appears to be
genuinely new is the formation of a “technical complex,” which, ac-
cording to Mumford, consists of a series of partial inventions that
combine into an ensemble. This unit begins to function when the
greatest number of its constituents have been assembled, and its
trend is toward continuous self-perfection. From 1000 -to about
1750, there had been a slow fermentation which had no immediate

TECHNIQUES

4 »)

consequences but which had amassed materials in every area of
life. They had only to be drawn on for the technical miracle to take
place. This continuity has been analyzed by Vierendeel in particu*
lar; and Wiener emphasizes it when he writes: "It is interesting to
reflect on the fact that every tool possesses a genealogy and is the
result of the tools which served to make it." This enormous sum of
experiments, of apparatus, of inquiries was put to use abruptly at
the end of an evolutionary period which had lasted for nearly ten
centuries without social catastrophe. Continuity of this kind was
important because it made unnecessary the transmission of the
technical legacy from one civilization to another, an operation
which inevitably involves the loss of a part of it, especially a part
of the social forces that apply to nontechnical areas. This continuity
is found in all fields of technique, from finance to transport. If
technical progress does not appear at a given moment, it is only
because the social milieu is not completely favorable. But it is
ripening underground; it is self-perpetuating even while it is dor-
mant, as in the seventeenth century. This long preparation was
necessary as support and foundation for the structure the nine-
teenth century was to build; it represented what Charles Moraz6
in his Essai sur la civilisation Occident calls "collective incuba-
tion r This incubation, consisting of millions of accumulated ex-
periments, was the preparation for the moment of formulation, of
expression,

A second factor was equally necessary: the population expansion.
Here again we find ourselves face to face with a familiar problem.
For two decades population studies in relation to the development
of civilization have demonstrated that there is a close link between
technique and population; the growth of population entails a
growth of needs which cannot be satisfied except by technical de-
velopment. From another viewpoint, a population expansion offers
favorable grounds for research and technical growth by furnishing
not only the necessary market but also the requisite human ma-
terial.

The third condition has been analyzed by Vincent. If technical
progress is to take place, the economic milieu must combine two
apparently contradictory traits: it must be at once stable and in
flux. The foundations of economic life must be stable so that
primary technical research can be devoted to well-defined objects

The Technological Society (49

and situations. But at the same time this milieu must be capable of
great change, so that technical inventions can be absorbed into the
economy, and research stimulated. A rigid economy brings with it
fixed customs which stifle the inventive faculty. Studies of the eco-
nomic situation in the second half of the eighteenth century show
that it had precisely these two opposed characteristics. But this is
well known. I shall do no more than point it out and shall devote
greater space to the last two conditions, which are usually neg-
lected.

The fourth condition is possibly the most decisive. It is the
plasticity of the social milieu, which involves two factors: the dis-
appearance of social taboos and the disappearance of natural social
groups.

The first of these appears in various forms, depending on the
society involved. In the Western civilization of the eighteenth cen-
tury there are two large categories: the taboos resulting from
Christianity, and sociological taboos. The first category takes in all
religious and moral ideas, judgments concerning action, the prevail-
ing conception of man, and the ends proposed for human life.
These were, theoretically and factually, opposed to technical de-
velopment. When faith had been translated into prejudice and
ideology, and personal religious experience incorporated into a so-
cial institution, a hardening of moral positions took place which
corresponded to the creation of genuine taboos. The natural order
must not be tampered with and anything new must be submitted
to a moral judgment — which meant an unfavorable prejudgment.
This was the popular mentality created by Christianity, particu-
larly during the seventeenth century. Closely related to these were
sociological taboos, in particular the conviction that a natural
hierarchy exists which nothing can modify. The position of the
nobility and the clergy, and above all of the king, could not be
questioned. When in the middle of the eighteenth century these be-
gan to be questioned, the reaction of the people was that sacrilege
was being committed; the stupor that accompanied the execution
of Louis XVI was a religious stupor. In fact, regicide was seen as
deicide. This constitution of society, which everyone relied on and
recognized as the only one possible, was an obstacle to technique
within it; technique was held to be fundamentally sacrilegious.
The natural hierarchy operated against the practice of the mechani-

TECHNIQUES

50)

cal arts, which would only bring conveniences to the lower
classes. And since the lower classes too believed in the natural
hierarchy, they could only be submissive and passive; they did not
try to better their lot. The important point here was not the reality
of the facts or the existence of the hierarchy; it was belief in its
natural and sacred character which stood in the way of technique.

The very structure of society — based on natural groups — was
also an obstacle. Families were closely organized. The guilds and
the groups formed by collective interests (for example, the Uni-
versity, the Parliament, the Confraternities and Hospitals) were
distinct and independent. The individual found livelihood, patron-
age, security, and intellectual and moral satisfactions in collectives
that were strong enough to answer all his needs but limited enough
not to make him feel submerged or lost. They sufficed to satisfy
the average man who does not try to gratify imaginary needs if
his position is fairly stable, who opposes innovation if he lives in a
balanced milieu, even though he is poor. This fact, which is so
salient in the three millennia of history we know, is misunderstood
by modern man, who does not know what a balanced social en-
vironment is and the good he could derive from it.

Man himself may feel less need to improve his condition. In ad-
dition, the very existence of natural groups is an obstacle to the
propagation of technical invention. For primitive peoples, inven-
tion spreads in certain geographical areas within certain groups
according to existing social bonds. Exterior diffusion, however, the
crossing of a sociological frontier, is extremely difficult. This phe-
nomenon exists in every society. Division into closely constituted
groups is an obstacle to the propagation of inventions. The same
holds for guilds. Guilds act not only spontaneously and as socio-
logical units, but also voluntarily and according to the lawful con-
stitution of each. This is also true of religious groups. Consider, for
example, the manufacturing secrets jealously guarded by the
French Protestants in the seventeenth century. The diffusion of
every technique tends to be checked by these social divisions.

These obstacles disappeared at the time of the French Revolu-
tion, in 1789. With the disappearance of religious and social taboos
came the creation of new religions, the affirmation of philosophic
materialism, the suppression of the various hierarchies, regicide,
and the struggle against the clergy. These factors acted powerfully

The Technological Society (51

upon the popular consciousness and contributed to the collapse of
the belief in these taboos.

At the same time (and this is the second factor which made for
the plasticity of the social milieu) a systematic campaign was
waged against all natural groups, under the guise of a defense of
the rights of the individual; for example, the guilds, the com-
munes, and federalism were attacked, this last by the Girondists.
There were movements against the religious orders and against the
privileges of Parliament, the Universities, and the Hospitalers.
There was to be no liberty of groups, only that of the individual.
There was likewise a struggle to undermine the family. Revolu-
tionary legislation promoted its disintegration; it had already been
shaken by the philosophy and the fervors of the eighteenth century.
Revolutionary laws governing divorce, inheritance, and paternal
authority were disastrous for the family unit, to the benefit of the
individual. And these effects were permanent, in spite of temporary
setbacks. Society was already atomized and would be atomized
more and more. The individual remained the sole sociological unit,
but, far from assuring him freedom, this fact provoked the worst
kind of slavery.

The atomization we have been discussing conferred on society
the greatest possible plasticity — a decisive condition for technique.
The breakup of social groups engendered the enonnous displace-
ment of people at the beginning of the nineteenth century and
resulted in the concentration of population demanded by modem
technique. To uproot men from their surroundings, from the rural
districts and from family and friends, in order to crowd them into
cities still too small for them; to squeeze thousands into unfit lodg-
ings and unhealthy places of work; to create a whole new environ-
ment within the framework of a new human condition (it is too
often overlooked that the proletariat is the creation of the indus-
trial machine ) — all this was possible only when the individual was
completely isolated. It was conceivable only when he literally had
no environment, no family, and was not part of a group able to
resist economic pressure; when he had almost no way of life left

Such is the influence of social plasticity. Without it, no technical
evolution is possible. For the individual in an atomized society, only
the state was left: the state was the highest authority and it became
omnipotent as well. The society produced was perfectly malleable

5* ) TECHNIQUES

and remarkably flexible from both the intellectual and the material
points of view. The technical phenomenon had its most favorable
environment since the beginning of history.

At the same time, by a historical coincidence ( whether fortuitous
or not, I shall not undertake to say), what I have called a clear
technical intention came into being. In all other civilizations there
had been a technical movement — more or less extensive work of
this kind — but not a mass intention, clearly understood and de-
liberately guiding the whole society in a technical direction.

Ciedion says of the period from 1750 to 1850: "Invention was a
part of the normal course of life. Everyone invented. Every entre-
preneur dreamed of more rapid and economical means of fabrica-
tion. The work was done unconsciously and anonymously. No-
where else and never before was the number of inventions per
capita as great as in America in the 6o’s of that century.'*

It is possible that a similar phenomenon took place in prehistoric
times when technique appeared out of sheer necessity. Pressed on
all sides, man reacted by creating technique. In historical times the
situation changed, however. Homo sapiens had by then established
his supremacy over the other mammals with respect to natural
forces. Some technical efforts had been pursued, now in one field,
now in another; for example, in the military art of the Assyrians or
in the art of construction of the Egyptians. There were always in-
dividuals who possessed a clear vision of technical supremacy; say,
Archimedes in mechanics, or Loyola in spiritual technique. But wc
almost never find the distinctive characteristic of our time — a precise
view of technical possibilities, the will to attain certain ends, ap-
plication in all areas, and adherence of the whole of society to a
conspicuous technical objective. All these, taken together, con-
stitute what I have termed a clear technical intention.

Whence arose this intention? Many causes conspired to produce
it, among them the influence of the philosophy of the eighteenth
century, reinforced by the philosophy of Hegel and later that of
Marx. But there were other factors which were as important. What
really produced the general movement in favor of technique was
special interest.

This technical movement has been studied by men as different
as Descartes and Mare. But it was only when industrial self -inter-

The Technological Society (53

est, for the sake of efficiency, demanded a search for the "one best
way to do work” that research was begun by Gilbreth in the field of
technique, with the amazing results we see today.

Special interest was and is the great motive force behind the de-
velopment of technical consciousness — but not necessarily any par-
ticular interest; say, the capitalistic interest or the moneyed inter-
est. The state interest was the first to become conscious in France,
at the time of the Revolution. The state developed political and in-
dustrial technique, and later, with Napoleon, military and judicial
technique, because it found them to be potent forces against its
enemies within and without The state protected “the arts and the
sciences” ( in reality, techniques ) not out of greatness of spirit or
concern for civilization, but out of the instinct for power. After the
state, it was the bourgeoisie who discovered how much profit could
be extracted from a consciously developed teclmique. In fact, the
bourgeoisie has always been more or less involved with technique.
They were the initiators of the first financial techniques and, later
on, of the modern state. At the beginning of the nineteenth century,
they saw the possibilities of drawing huge profits from this system,
especially as they were favored by the crumbling “of morals and
religion” and felt themselves free, in spite of the idealistic smoke
screen they raised, to exploit individuals. This class put the interests
of technique before the interests of individuals, who had to be
sacrificed in order that technique might progress. It is solely be-
cause the bourgeoisie made money, thanks to technique, that tech-
nique became one of their objectives.

This alliance is well known and we need recall but a few facts,
James Watt, his steam engine perfected, was ruined and at a
dead end. It was a bourgeois, Matthew Boulton, who grasped the
industrial and financial possibilities of Watt’s invention and de-
cided to apply it. Two further facts are pertinent: commercial
capitalism preceded industrial capitalism; industry owed its rise to
the accumulation of capital originating from commerce. And where
did industrialization first occur and become most widespread? In
England, because capitalism was more highly developed there and
the bourgeoisie more at liberty to act than anywhere else. This is
well known. The union between the bourgeoisie and technique
was expressed not only in the development of factories, but much

$4 ) TECHNIQUES

more subtly in the fact that the majority of technicians came from
this class. It was the bourgeoisie which promoted the advance of
science.

Moreover, the bourgeoisie were so well aware of the relation be-
tween economic success and the scientific foundations of that suc-
cess that they kept in their own hands, almost as a monopoly, the
instruction which was the only means of access to the great schools
and faculties that trained the technicians of science and the tech-
nicians of society. 8

Technical progress is a function of bourgeois money. Yet today
the Marxists claim that the bourgoisie either have attempted to
restrain technical progress or make it serve the purposes of war.
Their claim, however, does not prevent history from contradicting
their theories. Marx himself would never have made such state-
ments; what is true today was not true in his time.

However, this self-interest of the bourgeoisie was not enough to
carry the whole of society along with it — witness the popular re-
actions against technical progress. As late as 1848, one of the de-
mands of the workers was the suppression of machinery. This is
easily understood. The standard of living had not risen, men still
suffered from the loss of equilibrium in their lives brought about by
a too rapid injection of technique, and they had not yet felt the in-
toxication of the results. The peasants and the workers bore all the
hardships of technical advance without sharing in the triumphs.
For this reason, there >vas a reaction against technique, and so-
ciety was split. The power of the state, the money of the bour-
geoisie were for it; the masses were against.

In the middle of the nineteenth century the situation changed.
Karl Marx rehabilitated technique in the eyes of the workers. He
preached that technique can be liberating. Those who exploited it
enslaved the workers, but that was the fault of the masters and not
of technique itself.

Marx was perhaps not the first to have said this, but he was the
first to convince the masses of it. The working class would not be
liberated by a struggle against technique but, on the contrary, by
technical progress itself, which would automatically bring about
the collapse of the bourgeoisie and of capitalism. This reconcilia-

• The author includes here not only faculties such as the Ecole Polytechnique, but
also administrative tribunals such as the Conseil d'Etat ( Trans. )

The Technological Society ( 5 5

tion of the masses to techniques was decisive. But it would not
have been sufficient to result in a clear consciousness of the tech-
nical objective, the new consensus omnium , had it not appeared
simultaneously with a second historical fact, namely, the diffusion
of the so-called benefits of techniques among the masses. These
benefits included, for example, the conveniences of daily life, the
progressive shortening of the work day, facilities for public trans-
portation and medicine, new possibilities of making one's fortune
(in the United States and in the colonies), housing improvements,
and so forth. A prodigious upheaval took place between 1850 and
1914 which convinced everyone of the excellence of a technical
movement that could produce such marvels and alter human life.
All this, Marx explained, presaged even better things and pointed
to the road to follow. Fact and theory were for once in agreement.
How could public opinion resist?

Drawn by self-interest (the ideal of comfort, for instance), the
masses went over to the side of technique; society was converted.
A common will developed to exploit the possibilities of technique
to the maximum, and groups of the most conflicting interests
(state and individual, bourgeoisie and working class) united to
hymn its praises. Literally everyone was agreed on its excellence.
True, after 1914, certain criticisms came from the intellectuals, but
these were ineffective because they were usually beside the point
— manifestations of vague idealism or of sentimental humanitar-
ianism.

In the middle of the nineteenth century, when technique had
hardly begun to develop, another voice was raised in prophetic
warning against it. The voice was Kierkegaard s. But his warnings,
solidly thought out though they were, and in the strongest sense of
the word prophetic, were not heeded — for very different reasons.
They were too close to the truth.

This analysis applies chiefly to the countries where the technical
movement first developed — England and France. In England
events took a somewhat different course than in France, but they
had the same scope and profound significance. The historical se-
quence varied, but the orientation in both countries was toward
technical development. Social plasticity developed in England by
different paths and at a different time than in France. Sociological
taboos were broken at an early date. The regicide of Charles I by

TECHNIQUES

56)

Cromwell gave the initial and primary impulse to social plasticity;
as all writers agree, after this date a rigid social hierarchy no longer
existed in England. The supreme value was productive and efficient
labor which permitted the industrious to rise high on the social
ladder (William Pitt is a good example). The king no longer rep-
resented divine authority, nor was he able to resist the nation. No
longer was there sociological rigidity based on the royal person or
on the power of money. It would be an error to interpret sociologi-
cally the England of the eighteenth century in accordance with
the stability which is discernible in the nineteenth, and which was
achieved after the technical revolution, when society had entered
new paths. In the eighteenth century, England was essentially
mobile and unstable in all its structures. Christianity itself was not
the conservative force it proved to be on the Continent. Two great
currents divided English society before the advent of Methodism:
the Church of England and the Puritans. The Puritans, even after
their political failure, were the predominant influence. In keeping
with the trend the Reformation set, they exploded all prevailing
religious taboos and developed a practical and utilitarian mental-
ity that emphasized the use and even the exploitation of the good
things of this world given by God to men. The relationship of this
trend to the development of capitalism is well known. The Church
of England had favored tolerance since the end of the eighteenth
century and had adopted as its leading principle Bishop War-
burton’s idea of social utility. Here, too, there was a kind of secular-
ization of religion. Religion is no longer the framework of society;
it can no longer impose its taboos or forms upon it. Rather, it inte-
grates itself into society, adjusts to it, and adopts the notion of social
utility as criterion and justification. At the same time the disintegra-
tion and atomization of English social groups occurred — brought
about not so much by the influence of the state (as in France) as
by the destruction of peasant society which began in the early
eighteenth century and of which Defoe and Swift were such elo-
quent witnesses.

The peasant commune and the peasant family were slowly
ruined in the eighteenth century. The historian notes the collapse,
relentless and more rapid than in France, of a whole society which
had been in equilibrium until then. The struggle between the
landed and the moneyed interests ended with the victory of the

The Technological Society ( 5 7

moneyed interests. It is not important here to detail the ways a new
peasant society, based on the moneyed interest, came into being.
Newly rich entrepreneurs bought up the great estates and took the
place of the old gentry, but that is not our concern. Our concern is
the merchants whose influence changed the organic structure of
the traditional world. The small landowners and the yeomen were
eliminated or reduced to an agricultural proletariat, or they were
forced to migrate to the city. The rural corporations were ruined,
the communes passed almost completely into the hands of the new
landlords and ceased to constitute coherent sociological units. The
movement was accelerated by the application of new agricultural
methods, which were accepted much more rapidly than in France.
The enclosure of the commons, which in France took place chiefly
after 1780, began in England in 1730. The new agricultural tech-
niques were plainly so superior that it was not possible to preserve
the old "open field'’ system — the commons, the pastures, and the
forests; thus the final blow was dealt to the old, organic, peasant
society. The peasant could not survive as such, and with him, the
whole of society entered into a state of flux. The plasticity we refer
to came about in England as a result of this evolution in the use of
land, which furnished the technical movement with the necessary
manpower: apathetic, vacant, and uprooted. Not only was this
manpower necessary for the development of industry; the masses
thus created were indispensable to faith in techniques and the
spread of techniques.

To summarize: social plasticity came about earlier in England
than in France, and the technical movement developed along with
it. Moreover, the state, which was dominant in French society, did
not have the same influence in Great Britain.

This applies too to the development of a clear technical con-
sciousness. In Great Britain this consciousness appeared as a bour-
geois interest. The spirit behind the introduction of new techniques
in the rural districts was very different from that which character-
ized France a short time later. The technical movement in France
was launched by the monarchy and took a scientific form: the
academies and the research institutes propagated the new tech-
niques throughout the country; and the nobles applied them, very
often disinterestedly. In England, profit was from the very begin-
ning the prime motive. And empiricism was the dominant factor

TECHNIQUES

5 «)

because technique was more efficient Techniques were developed
because it paid to develop them; commercial activity found them
advantageous. This was true in agriculture as well as in industry.

The English technical movement was marked by the fact that all
the different financial systems ( banks, stock exchanges, insurance
companies) were perfected. The clear consciousness of the value
of technique expressed itself primarily in terms of money, and was
located at the center of the systems of distribution. And the accel-
eration of invention in this area influenced all other techniques.
The British state attained this clear technical consciousness at a
comparatively last date, and then only when it saw that techniques
were to its immediate interest.

This phenomenon of technical clarity sometimes came about
through an association of the interests of the state and the interests
of private individuals. In steelmaking, for example, the fact that
Henry Cort was supplier to the Admiralty was decisive, in 1780, for
the application and development of steel puddling. The state
found in this procedure an excellent means of improving its naval
vessels. However, it was competition with the Napoleonic empire
that started His Majesty’s government down the road of tech-
nique.

Thereafter, both governments understood that only technical
efficiency in all governmental relations and enterprises could com-
mand the paths of peace as well as the affairs of war. The English
state henceforth had the same influence on the development of
techniques as the French revolutionary state had exerted through
the establishment of a clear technical consciousness. The way had
already been paved in England by the emergence of the British
bourgeoisie. Whatever the differences in its development in Eng-
land and France, however, the technical consciousness that ap-
peared was identical in both countries.

In the United States this took place at the beginning of the nine-
teenth century. Until then, the society of this country was inor-
ganic. But at that time the American social milieu was favorable;
moreover, the Americans profited from the technical conscious-
ness evolved in Europe, and so they arrived immediately at a
model for technique. Giedion has noted that the Americans began
by mechanizing complex operations, which produced the assembly
line, whereas the Europeans tended to mechanize simple opera-

The Technological Society (59

tions, such as spinning. This American accomplishment was the
result of the exceptional flexibility of the American milieu.

These conditions were not found in the other European coun-
tries: Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria, Russia. In these nations the
social structures remained as they were and the social hierarchy
was not attacked. The taboos of religion were fanatically respected,
and those of society were not questioned. The Inquisition and the
Tribunal of the Empire jealously guarded the spiritual and socio-
logical divisions of society. This world was already undermined,
ruined, and emptied of content, but its rigid forms were univer-
sally accepted as good. There were few changes in the cities and
none at all in the rural areas. The traditional organism remained
intact. And when enlightened despotism began to create some ex-
citement, this world was so little prepared that it exhausted itself
in the struggle against the old social structures. Consider, for ex-
ample, the fate of Peter the Great, Joseph II, and the melancholy
and celebrated Marquis de Pombal.

Great inventions may have been made in Germany and Russia
during this period. Everyone is familiar with the claims of Hitler,
and later of Stalin, that all important discoveries were made in
their respective countries. Allowing for exaggeration, there is per-
haps some truth in these claims. But the discoveries were not
applied, and only application counts in the rise of technique.
Application did not take place because the felicitous combination
of factors we have discussed was lacking. The social milieu of these
countries, their spiritual tendencies, group psychology, sociological
structures, and past history were all unfavorable to the rise of tech-
nique. The state in some countries, principally Prussia, was fav-
orable to it; but a clear technical consciousness on the part of the
state alone was obviously insufficient to open the door to the great
mobilization of men and things necessary for this multiform prog-
ress.

The joint occurrence of the five factors we have briefly analyzed
explains the exceptional growth of technique. Never before had
these factors coincided. They are, to summarize: (1) a very long
technical maturation or incubation without decisive checks before
the final flowering; (a) population growth; (3) a suitable eco-
nomic milieu; (4) the almost complete plasticity of a society mal-

TECHNIQUES

6o)

leable and open to the propagation of technique; (5) a clear tech-
nical intention, which combines the other factors and directs them
toward the pursuit of the technical objective. Some of these condi-
tions had existed in other societies; for example, the necessary tech-
nical preparation and the destruction of taboos in the Roman Em-
pire in the third century. But the unique phenomenon was the
simultaneous existence of all five — all of them necessary to bring
about individual technical invention, the mainspring of everything
else.

What else can history teach us? Only the vanity of believing we
can impose our theories on history. Any philosophy which asserts
that human experience repeats itself is ineffectual.

CHAPTER

IXI

THE

CHARACTEROLOGY
OF TECHNIQUE

In discussing technique today it is impossible not to take a position.
And the position we take is determined by a historical choice, con-
scious or unconscious.

Acknowledging that the technical phenomenon is a constant of
human history, is there anything new about its present aspect?
There are two distinct positions on this question. The first main-
tains that there is no more real technical innovation in the modem
world than there was in the Stone Age. Jean Fourastie asks hu-
morously whether prehistoric man, the first time he saw a bronze
sword used, did not feel as menaced by it as we feel by the atom
bomb. It would seem, then, that technical innovations have al-
ways had the same surprising and unwelcome character for men.
(This is an inexhaustible source of jokes for motion pictures and
cartoons. ) If we become frightened, we are merely obeying ances-
tral instincts. There is no more real reason to be frightened by the

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

62)

atomic bomb than by any invention thousands of years old — which,
as we see, has not destroyed the human race. The technique of to-
day has the same characteristics as all preceding techniques. This
normal development, however rapid and surprising, cannot be of
danger to us.

In opposition to this resolutely optimistic position, there is an-
other which maintains that we are confronted with a genuinely new
phenomenon. There is nothing in common between the modern
technical complex and the fragments of it which are laboriously
sought out in the course of history to demonstrate that there has al-
ways been technique. For those who hold this viewpoint, the techni-
cal phenomenon represents a complete change, not only of degree,
but of kind. Modern society is confronted with a transition (her-
alded by Marx and particularly by Engels ) which involves change
of quality as a consequence of change of quantity. This postulate,
which Engels applied to physical phenomena, holds true for so-
ciological phenomena as welL Beyond a certain quantity, the phe-
nomenon, even though in a sense it remains the same, does not
have the same quality, is not of the same nature.

One cannot choose between these two theses in a subjective
and a priori manner. It is necessary to examine the objective char-
acteristics of technique to determine whether there has really been
a change. But what characteristics shall we examine? Not the in-
trinsic ones; these do not change. If we consider intrinsic charac-
teristics, the first position is right. The mental operation by means
of which Archimedes constructed certain engines of war is iden-
tical with that of any modern engineer who improves a motor. And
the same instinct impels a man to catapult stones and to construct
a machine gun. Likewise, the same laws of propagation of techni-
cal invention operate, no matter what the stage of technical evolu-
tion. However, these identities are not at all convincing.

Many men who have studied the problems posed by different
techniques admit that there is a radical difference between the tra-
ditional situation and the situation we face today. On the basis of
intrinsic characteristics, these men have established a distinction be-
tween (a) the fundamental techniques which, as Ducasse says,
"sum up all man’s relations with his environment,” and (b) the
techniques which are the results of applied science. The first group
is composed of techniques which, although seldom identical in

The Technological Society (63

method and form, are identical in intrinsic characteristics. They
constitute the complex of fundamental techniques which sociolo-
gists such as LeRoi-Gourhan usually study and on the basis of
which they elucidate the laws of technique. Primitive techniques
have no reality in themselves; they are merely the intermediary be-
tween man and his environment.

The techniques which result from applied science date from the
eighteenth century and characterize our own civilization. The new
factor is that the multiplicity of these techniques has caused them
literally to change their character. Certainly, they derive from old
principles and appear to be the fruit of normal and logical evolu-
tion. However, they no longer represent the Same phenomenon. In
fact, technique has taken substance, has become a reality in itself.
It is no longer merely a means and an intermediary. It is an object
in itself, an independent reality with which we must reckon.

However, this often admitted difference does not seem to me to
characterize conclusively the singularity of the technical situation
today. The characterization can be challenged because it does not
rest upon deep historical experience. It is not enough simply to de-
clare, by drawing on everyone’s experience of the disparity be-
tween our technique and the limited needs of our bodies, that
technique is a reality in itself. We may keep this in mind, but we
must also recognize that it is incomplete and not altogether con-
vincing.

It is not, then, the intrinsic characteristics of techniques which
reveal whether there have been real changes, but the characteristics
of the relation between the technical phenomenon and society. Let
us take a very simple comparison. A shell explodes and the explo-
sion is normally always the same. Any fifty shells of the same cali-
ber when exploded display approximately the same objective char-
acteristics from a physical or chemical point of view. The sound,
light, and projection of fragments remain nearly identical. The in-
trinsic characteristics of the fifty explosions are the same. But if
forty-nine shells go off in some remote place and the fiftieth goes off
in the midst of a platoon of soldiers, it cannot be maintained that
the results are identical. A relation has been established which en-
tails a change. To assess this change, it is not the intrinsic character
of the explosion which must be examined, but rather its relation to
the environment In the same way, to learn if there has been, for

THE CHABACTEROLOCT OF TECHNIQUE

64 )

man, a change in modem technqiue in relation to the old, we must
assess, not the internal characteristics of the technique, but the ac*
tual situation of technique in human society.

To go beyond this and to imagine, for example, what might Have
been the psychological reaction of primitive men when faced with
technical invention is pure fantasy. The question put by Jean
Fourastie, strictly speaking, has no meaning. The working of the
mind varies according to place and time, and we cannot project our*
selves with any assurance into the mind of primitive man. In
order to remain within the limits of what can be known,
we must be content to study the relation between technique and
society, a relation which has the advantage of being meaningful

Technique in Civilization

Traditional Techniques and Society. What was the position of
technique in the different societies which have preceded ours?
Most of these societies resembled one another in their technical
aspects. But it is not enough to say that technique was restricted.
We must determine the precise characteristics of the limitations,
which are four in number.

First, technique was applied only in certain narrow, limited areas.
When we attempt to classif y techniques throughout history, we find
principally techniques of production, of war and hunting, of con-
sumption (clothing, houses, etc. ), and, as we have said, magic. This
complex of techniques would seem to modern man to represent a
rather considerable domain and, indeed, to correspond to the
whole of life. What more could there be than producing, consum-
ing, fighting, and practicing magic? But we must look at these
things in perspective.

In so-called primitive societies, the whole of life was indeed en-
closed in a network of magical techniques. It is their multiplicity
that lends them the qualities of rigidity and mechanization. Magic,
as we have seen, may even be the origin of techniques; but the pri-
mary characteristic of these societies was not a technical but a reli-
gious preoccupation. In spite of this totalitarianism of magic, it
is not possible to speak of a technical universe. Moreover, the im-
portance of techniques gradually diminishes as we reach historical

The Technological Society ( $$

societies. In these societies, the life of the group was essentially
nontechnical. And although certain productive techniques still ex-
isted, the magical forms which had given a technique to social rela-
tions, to political acts, and to military and judicial life tended to
disappear. These areas ceased to respond to techniques and became
subject instead to social spontaneities. The law, which had tradi-
tionally expressed itself in certain customs, no longer had any char-
acter of technical rigor; even the state was nothing but a force
which simply manifested itself. These activities depended more on
private initiative, short-lived manifestations or ephemeral tradi-
tions, than on a persevering technical will and rational improve-
ments.

Even in activities we consider technical, it was not always that
aspect which was uppermost. In the achievement of a small eco-
nomic goal, for example, the technical effort became secondary to
the pleasure of gathering together. “Formerly, when a New Eng-
land family convoked a 1>ee r (that is, a meeting for working in
common), it was for all concerned one of the most pleasurable
times of the year. The work was scarcely more than a pretext for
coming together.* 1 The activity of sustaining social relations and
human contacts predominated over the technical scheme of things
and the obligation to work, which were secondary causes.

Society was free of technique. And even on the level of the indi-
vidual, technique occupied a place much more circumscribed than
we generally believe. Because we judge in modem terms, we be-
lieve that production and consumption coincided with the whole
of life.

For primitive man, and for historical man until a comparatively
late date, work was a punishment, not a virtue. It was better not
to consume than to have to work hard; the rule was to work only
as much as absolutely necessary in order to survive. Man worked
as little as possible and was content with a restricted consumption
of goods (as, for example, among the Negroes and the Hindus) —
a prevalent attitude, which limits both techniques of production
and techniques of consumption. Sometimes slavery was the answer:
an entire segment of the population did not work at all and de-
pended on the labor of a minority of slaves. In general, the slaves

1 Ceorge C Homans, quoted by Jerome Scott and 1L P. Lyatoa.

66) THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

did constitute a minority. We must not be misled by Imperial
Rome, Greece under Pericles, or the Antilles in the eighteenth
century. In most slaveholding nations, slaves were in a minority.

The time given to the use of techniques was short, compared
with the leisure time devoted to sleep, conversation, games, or, best
of all, to meditation. As a corollary, technical activities had little
place in these societies. Technique functioned only at certain pre-
cise and well-defined times; this was the case in all societies before
our own. Technique was not part of man’s occupation nor a subject
for preoccupation.

This limitation of technique is attested to by the fact that in
the past technique was not considered nearly as important as it is
today. Heretofore, mankind did not bind up its fate with technical
progress. Man regarded technical progress more as a relative in-
strument than as a god. He did not hope for very much from it.
Let us take an example from Giedion’s admirable book, in which
he elucidates the small importance technique had traditionally.

In our day, we are unable to envisage comfort except as part of
the technical order of things. Comfort for us means bathrooms, easy
chairs, foam-rubber mattresses, air conditioning, washing ma-
chines, and so forth. The chief concern is to avoid effort and pro-
mote rest and physical euphoria. For us, comfort is closely asso-
ciated with the material life; it manifests itself in the perfection of
personal goods and machines. According to Giedion, the men of
the Middle Ages also were concerned with comfort, but for them
comfort had an entirely different form and content. It represented
a feeling of moral and aesthetic order. Space was the primary ele-
ment in comfort. Man sought open spaces, large rooms, the possi-
bility of moving about, of seeing beyond his nose, of not con-
stantly colliding with other people. These preoccupations are alto-
gether foreign to us.

Moreover, comfort consisted of a certain arrangement of space.
In the Middle Ages, a room could be completely “finished,” even
though it might contain no furniture. Everything depended On pro-
portions, material, form. The goal was not convenience, but rather
a certain atmosphere. Comfort was the mark of the man’s personal-
ity on the place where he lived. This, at least in part, explains the
extreme diversity of architectural interiors in the houses of the pe-
riod. Nor was this the result of mere whim; it represented an

The Technological Society (67

adaptation to character; and when it had been realized, the man of
the Middle Ages did not care if his rooms were not well heated
or his chairs hard.

This concept of comfort, closely bound up with the person,
clearly takes death for granted, as did man himself; man’s aware-
ness of death likewise profoundly influences his search for an ade-
quate milieu. Giedion’s study is convincing. Medieval man did not
dream for an instant that technique had any influence at all, even
on objects which today we consider completely material and con-
sequently of a technical order.

This limitation of the sphere of action of technique was in-
creased even more by the limitation of the technical means em-
ployed in these fields. There was no great variety of means for
attaining a desired result, and there was almost no attempt to per-
fect the means which did exist It seems, on the contrary, that a
conscious Malthusian tendency prevailed. It was expressed, for
example, in the regulations of the guilds concerning tools, and in
Roman law, by the principle of the economy of forms. Man tended
to exploit to the limit such means as he possessed, and took care
not to replace them or create other means as long as the old ones
were effective. From the judicial point of view, the principle of
the economy of forms led to the creation of the fewest possible legal
instruments. Laws were few, and so were institutions. Man used
the utmost ingenuity to obtain a maximum of results from a mini-
mum of means at the price of fictions, transpositions, applications
a pari and a contrario t and so on. This was also true industrially.
Society was not oriented toward the creation of a new instrument
in response to a new need. The emphasis was rather on the applica-
tion of old means, which were constantly extended, refined, and
perfected.

The deficiency of the tool was to be compensated for by the
skill of the worker. Professional know-how, the expert eye were
what counted: man’s talents could make his crude tools yield the
maximum efficiency. This was a kind of technique, but it had none
of the characteristics of instrumental technique. Everything varied
from man to man according to his gifts, whereas technique in the
modern sense seeks to eliminate such variability. It is understand-
able that technique in itself played a very feeble role. Everything
was done by men who employed the most rudimentary means. The

68 ) THE CHARACTRROLOCY OT TECHNIQUE

search for the ^finished,* for perfection in use, for ingenuity of ap-
plication, took the place of a search for new tools which would
have permitted men to simplify their work, but also would have
involved giving up the pursuit of real skill.

Here we have two antithetical orders of inquiry. When there is
an abundance of instruments that answer all needs, it is impossible
for one man to have a perfect knowledge of each or the skill to use
each. This knowledge would be useless in any case; the perfection
of the instrument is what is required, and not the perfection of the
human being. But, until the eighteenth century, all societies were
primarily oriented toward improvement in the use of tools and
were little concerned with the tools themselves. No clean-cut divi-
sion can be made between the two orientations. Human skill, hav-
ing attained a certain degree of perfection in practice, necessarily
entails improvement of the tool itself. The question is one of tran-
scending the stage of total utilization of the tool by improving it
There is, therefore, no doubt that the two phenomena do inter-
penetrate. But traditionally the accent was on the human being
who used the tool and not on the tool he used.

The improvement of tools, essentially the result of the prac-
tice of a personal art, came about in a completely pragmatic way.
For this reason, we can put in the first category all the techniques
we have classified with regard to intrinsic characteristics. A small
number of techniques, not very efficient: this was the situation in
Eastern and Western society from the tenth century b.c. to the
tenth century a.d.

The world of technique had still a third characteristic prior to
the eighteenth century: it was local. Social groups were very strong
and closed to outsiders. There was little communication, materially
speaking, and even less from the spiritual point of view. Technique
spread slowly. Certain examples of technical propagation are al-
ways cited; the introduction of the wheel into Egypt by the Hyksos;
the Crusades; and so on. But such events took millennia and were
accidental. In the majority of cases, there was little transmission.
Imitation took place very slowly and mankind passed from one tech-
nical stage to the next with great difficulty. This is true of material
techniques, and even more so of non-material techniques.

Creek art remained Creek in industrial projects such as pottery-
making, even when imitated by the Romans. Roman law did not

The Technological Society (69

extend beyond the Roman borders, whereas the Napoleonic code
was adopted by Turkey and Japan. As for magic, that technique re-
mained completely secret

Every technical phenomenon was isolated from similar move-
ments elsewhere. There was no transmission, only fruitless grop-
ings. Geographically, we can trace the compass of a given tech-
nique, follow the zones of its influence, imitation, and extension; in
almost every case we find how small was the extent of its radiation.

Why was this so? The explanation is simple: technique was an
intrinsic part of civilizatioa And civilization consisted of numerous
and diversified elements — natural elements such as temperament
and flora, climate and population; and artificial elements such as
art, technique, the political regime, etc. Among all these factors,
which mingled with one another, technique was only one. It was
inexorably linked with them and depended on them, as they de-
pended on it. It was part of a whole, part of the determinate so-
ciety, and it developed as a function of the whole and shared its
fate.

Just as one society is not interchangeable with another, so tech-
nique remained enclosed in its proper framework; no more would
it become universal than the society in which it was embedded.
Geographically there could be no technical transmission because
technique was not some anonymous piece of merchandise but
rather bore the stamp of the whole culture. This entails much more
than the existence of a simple barrier between social groups.
Technique was unable to spread from one social group to another
except when the two were in the same stage of evolution and ex-
cept when civilizations were of the same type. In the past, in other
words, technique was not objective, but subjective in relation to
its own culture.

It is understandable, therefore, that technique, incorporated in
its proper framework, did not evolve autonomously. On the con-
trary, it depended on a whole ensemble of factors which had to
vary with it. It is not accurate to conceive the movement in the
oversimplified manner of Marxism, as first the evolution of tech-
nique, and subsequently the alignment of the other factors. This
veiw is accurate for the nineteenth century but it is false for history
as a whole. Certain important covariations traditionally existed,
and these factors, co variant with technique, changed according

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

70)

to the type of civilization. There was, for example, the association
of technique and the state among the Egyptians and the Incas; of
technique and philosophy in Greece and China. Francastel has
shown how technique could be “absorbed and directed by the
arts," as happened, say, in the fifteenth century, when it was sub-
ordinated to a plastic vision of the world, which imposed on it
limits and demands. At that time, there existed a whole “civiliza-
tion well provided with technical inventions, but which deliber-
ately undertook to use them only to the degree in which these in-
ventions would allow it to realize an imaginative construction."
Thereafter, we find a complicated “art technique" and, as else-
where, we almost never find technique in a pure state.

The consequence was an extreme local diversity of techniques
for attaining the same result. No comparison or competition existed
yet between these different systems; the formulation: “The one best
way in the world" had not yet been made. It was a question of the
“ best way" in a given locality. Because of this, arms and tools took
very different forms, and social organizations were extremely di-
verse.

It is impossible to speak of slavery as all of a piece. Roman slav-
ery, for example, had nothing to do with Teutonic slavery, or Teu-
tonic slavery with Chaldean. We habitually use one term to cover
very different realities. This extreme diversity divested technique
of its most crucial characteristic. There was no single means
which was judged best and able to eliminate all others by virtue of
its efficiency. This diversity has made us believe that there was an
epoch of experimentation, when man was groping to find his way.
This is a false notion; it springs from our modem prejudice that the
stage we find ourselves in today represents the highest level of
humanity. In reality, diversity resulted not from various experimen-
tal attempts on the part of various peoples, but from the fact that
technique was always embedded in a particular culture.

Alongside this spatial limitation of technique, we find a time
limitation. Until the eighteenth century, techniques evolved very
slowly. Technical work was purely pragmatic, inquiry was empiri-
cal, and transmission slow and feeble. Centuries were required
for: (a) utilization of an invention (for example, the water mill);
(b) transition from a plaything to a useful object (gunpowder,
automatons); (c) transition from a magical to an economic opera-

T he T echnological Societij (yi

tion (breeding of animals); ( d ) simple perfecting >r instru-
ment (the horse yoke and the transition from the simple stick plow
to the train plow). This was even more true for abstract techniques.
Abstract techniques, I maintain, are almost nontransmissible in
time from a given civilization to its successor. We must be some-
what skeptical, and in any case prudent, when the evolution of
techniques is presented as an evolution of inventions; actually this
development was never more than potential. There is nothing to
prove that true technique existed heretofore, that is, in the sense of
generalized application. It is possible to compile a fine catalogue of
seventeenth-century inventions, and to deduce from it that a great
technical movement was in force at that time. Many writeis have
fallen into this error — among them, Jean Laloup and Jean Nelis. It
is not because Pascal invented a calculating machine and Papin
a steam engine that there was a technical evolution; nor was it
because a “prototype” of a power loom was built; nor because the
process of the dry distillation of coal was discovered. As Cille lias
very judiciously noted: “The best-described machines in the eight-
eenth century Encyclopedie are possibly better conceived than
those of the fifteenth century, but scarcely constitute a revolution*
The initial problem was to construct the machine, to make the in-
vented technique actually work. The second consisted in the diffu-
sion of the machine throughout the society; and this second step
proceeded very slowly.

This divergence between invention and technique, which is the
cause of the time lag we have spoken of, is correctly interpreted
by Gille in these words: “There was a discontinuity of technical
progress but there was probably a continuity of research ” Cille
shows clearly that technical progress develops according to a dis-
continuous rhythm: “It is tied up with demographic or economic
rhythms and with certain internal contradictions.” This discontinu-
ity still contributes to evolutionary lag today.

Slowness in the evolution of techniques is evident throughout
history. Very few variations seem to have occurred in this constant.
But it cannot be maintained that this slowness was completely uni-
form. Yet, even in periods that appear rather fertile, it is clear that
evolution was slow. For example, Roman law, which was particu-
larly rich in the classical period, took two centuries to find a perfect
form. Moreover, the number of applied inventions was sharply re-

Jl) THE CH ARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

stricted, The fifteenth century, in spite of its importance, produced
no more than four or five important technical applications. The
natural consequence of this evolutionary slowness was that tech-
nique could be adapted to men. Almost unconsciously, men kept
abreast of techniques and controlled their use and influence. This
resulted not from an adaptation of men to techniques ( as in mod-
em times), but rather from the subordination of techniques to men.
Technique did not pose the problem of adaptation because it was
firmly enmeshed in the framework of life and culture. It developed
so slowly that it did not outstrip the slow evolution of man himself.
The progress of the two was so evenly matched that man was able
to keep pace with his techniques. From the physical point of view,
techniques did not intrude into his life; neither his moral evolu-
tion nor his psychic life were influenced by them. Techniques en-
abled man to make individual progress and facilitated certain
developments, but they did not influence him directly. Social
equilibrium corresponded to the slowness of general evolution.

This evolutionary slowness was accompanied by a great irra-
tional diversification of designs. The evolution of techniques was
produced by individual efforts accompanied by a multitude of scat-
tered experiments. Men made incoherent modifications on instru-
ments and institutions which already existed; but these modifica-
tions did not constitute adaptations. We are amazed when we
inspect, say, a museum of arms or tools, and note the extreme di-
versity of form of a single instrument in the same place and time.
The great sword used by Swiss soldiers in the sixteenth century had
at least nine different forms (hooked, racked, double-handed, hex-
agonal blades, blades shaped like a fleur-de-lis, grooved, etc.). This
diversity was evidently due to various modes of fabrication peculiar
to the smiths; it cannot be explained as a manifestation of a techni-
cal inquiry. The modifications of a given type were not the out-
come of calculation or of an exclusively technical will They re-
sulted from aesthetic considerations. It is important to emphasize
that technical operations, like the instruments themselves, almost
always depended on aesthetic preoccupations. It was impossible to
conceive of a tool that was not beautiful. As for the idea, fre-
quently accepted since the triumph of efficiency, that the beautiful
is that which is well adapted to use — assuredly no such notion
guided the aesthetic searchings of the past No such conception of

* The Technological Society (73

beauty (however true) moved the artisan who carved a Toledo
blade or fabricated a harness. On the contrary, aesthetic considera-
tions are gratuitous and permit the introduction of uselessness into
an eminently useful and efficient apparatus.

This diversity of forms was manifestly conditioned by vainglory
and pleasure — the vainglory of the user, the pleasure of the artisan.
Both caused changes in the classic type. And why not include as
well that pure fantasy which runs through all the creations of
Greece and the Middle Ages?

All this led to a modification of the given type. The search for
greater efficiency likewise played a role, but it was one factor
among several. The different forms were subject to trial and error,
and certain forms were progressively stabilized and imitated, either
because of their plastic perfection or because of their usefulness.
The final result was the establishment of a new type derived from
its predecessor.

This diversity of influences, which operated on all technical
mechanisms, explains in part the slow tempo of progress in these
areas. To obey a multiplicity of motives and not reason alone seems
to be an important keynote of man. When, in the nineteenth cen-
tury, society began to elaborate an exclusively rational technique
which acknowledged only considerations of efficiency, it was felt
that not only the traditions but the deepest instincts of humankind
had been violated. Men sought to reintroduce indispensable factors
of aesthetics and morals. Out of this effort came the unprecedented
creation of certain aspects of style in the i88o*s; the tool with ma-
chine-made embellishments. Sewing machines were decorated
with cast-iron flowers, and the first tractors bore engraved bulls*
heads. That it was wasteful to supply such embellishments soon
became evident; their ugliness doubtless contributed to the realiza-
tion, Moreover, these flourishes represented a wrong road, techni-
cally speaking. The machine can become precise only to the degree
that its design is elaborated with mathematical rigor in accordance
with use. And an embellishment could increase air resistance,
throw a wheel out of balance, alter velocity or precision. There
was no room in practical activity for gratuitous aesthetic preoccu-
pations. The two had to be separated. A style then developed based
on the idea that the line best adapted to use is the most beautiful.

Abstract techniques and their relation to morals underwent the

74 ) THE CHAHACTEROLOCY OP TECHNIQUE

same evolution. Earlier, economic or political inquiries were inex-
tricably bound with ethical inquiry, and men attempted to main-
tain this union artificially even after they had recognized the inde-
pendence of economic technique. Modern society is, in fact, con-
ducted on the basis of purely technical considerations. But when
men found themselves going counter to the human factor, they re-
introduced — and in an absurd way — all manner of moral theories
related to the rights of man, the League of Nations, liberty, jus-
tice. None of that has any more importance than the ruffled sun-
shade of McCormick's first reaper. When these moral flourishes
overly encumber technical progress, they are discarded — more or
less speedily, with more or less ceremony, but with determination
nonetheless. This is the state we are in today.

The elimination of these evolutionary factors and of technical
diversification has brought about a transformation of the basic
process of this evolution. Technical progress today is no longer
conditioned by anything other than its own calculus of efficiency.
The search is no longer personal, experimental, workmanlike; it is
abstract, mathematical, and industrial. This does not mean that the
individual no longer participates. On the contrary, progress is made
only after innumerable individual experiments. But the individual
participates only to the degree that he is subordinate to the search
for efficiency, to the degree that he resists all the currents today
considered secondary, such as aesthetics, ethics, fantasy. Insofar
as the individual represents this abstract tendency, he is permitted
to participate in technical creation, which is increasingly independ-
ent of him and increasingly linked to its own mathematical law.

It was long believed that rational systematization would act to
reduce the number of technical types: in the measure iliac the fac-
tors of diversification were eliminated, the result would be fewer
and more simple and precise types. Thus, during the latter part of
the nineteenth century — in the mechanical, medical, and adminis-
trative spheres — exact instruments were available from which fan-
tasy and irrationality had been totally eliminated. The result was
fewer instruments. As further progress was made, however, a new
element of diversification came into play: in order that an instru-
ment be perfectly efficient, it had to be perfectly adapted. But the
most rational instrument possible takes no account of the extreme
diversity of the operational environment. This represents an essen^

T he Technological Society (75

tial characteristic of technique. Every procedure implies a single,
specific result. As Porter Gale Perrin puts it “Just as a word evokes
an idea which exactly corresponds to no other word/’ so a fixed
technical procedure generates a fixed result Technical methods are
not multipurposive, or adaptable, or interchangeable. Perrin has
demonstrated this in detail with reference to judicial technique, but
it also holds for everything else. Take the well-known example,
cited by Pierre de La til, of a machine, brought to the highest possi-
ble pitch of perfection, the purpose of which was to produce from
cast iron, at a single stroke, cylinder heads, for aircraft engines.
The machine was 28 meters long and cost $100,000. But the mo-
ment the required type of cylinder head was changed, the machine
became good for nothing; it was unadaptable to any new operation.
A judicial system may function perfectly adequately in France but
not in Turkey. For true efficiency, not only must the rational aspect
of the machine be taken into account, but also its adaptation to
the environment. A military tank will have a different form de-
pending on whether it is to be used in mountainous terrain or in
rice paddies. The more an instrument is designed to execute a sin-
gle operation efficiently and with utmost precision, the less can it be
multipurposive, A new diversification of technical apparatus thus
appears: today instruments are differentiated as a result of the con-
tinually more specialized usage demanded of them.

The field of aviation gives us one of the best examples of this.
Aircraft are described by the use to which they are put We have,
correspondingly, extremely precise and more and more diversified
types. The list of French military aircraft, consisting at the present
of five great categories, is as follows: (1) strategic bombers,
(2) tactical bombers, (3) pursuit planes, (4) reconnaissance
planes, and (5) transport planes. These five categories are sub-
divided further; there are altogether thirteen different subtypes,
none of which are interchangeable with one another. Each has very
different characteristics resulting from more and more refined tech-
nical adaptations.

The same extensive differentiation is found in much less impor-
tant areas. A recent brochure of the world’s largest refiner of lubri-
cating oils lists fifteen different kinds of lubricants designed exclu-
sively for automobiles. Each type corresponds to a definite use, each
possessing specific qualities, and all equally necessary.

76 ) THE CHARACTEROLOCY OT TECHNIQUE

A fourth characteristic of technique, which results from the
characteristics just enumerated, is the possibility, reserved to the
human being, of choice. Inasmuch as all techniques were geo-
graphically and historically limited, societies of many different
types were able to exist. For the most part, there was an equilib-
rium between two major types of civilization — the active and the
passive. This distinction is well known. Some societies are oriented
toward the exploitation of the earth, toward war, conquest, and ex-
pansion in all its forms. Other societies are inwardly oriented; they
labor just enough to support themselves, concentrate on them-
selves, are not concerned with material expansion, and erect solid
barriers against anything from without. From the spiritual point of
view, these societies are characterized by a mystical attitude, by a
desire for self-dissolution and absorption into the divine.

Human societies are variable, however. A group which has
hitherto been active might become passive. The Tibetans, for in-
stance, were conquerors and believers in magic until their conver-
sion to Buddhism. Thereafter they became the world s most pas-
sive and mystical people. The reverse can also take place.

The two types of society coexisted throughout history; indeed,
this seemed necessary to the equilibrium of world and man. Until
the nineteenth century, technique had not yet excluded one of them.
Moreover, man could isolate himself from the influence of tech-
nique by attaching himself to a given group and exerting influence
on this group. Of course, other constraints acted on him; the indi-
vidual was never completely free with respect to his group, but
these constraints were not completely decisive or imperative in
character.

Whether we are considering unconscious sociological cohesion
or the power of the state, we find these forces always necessarily
counterbalanced by the existence of other neighboring groups and
other loyalties. There was no irrefutable constraint on man, because
nothing absolutely good in respect to everything else had been dis-
covered. We have noted the diversity of technical form and the
slowness of imitation. But it was always human action which was
decisive. When several technical forms came into contact, the indi-
vidual made his choice on the basis of numerous reasons. Efficiency
was only one of them, as Pierre Deffontaines has demonstrated in
his work on religious geography.

The Technological Society ( 7 7

Although the individual existing in the framework of a civiliza*
tion of a certain type was always confronted with certain tech-
niques, he was nevertheless free to break with that civilization and
to control his own individual destiny. The constraints to which he
was subject did not function decisively because they were of a non*
technical nature and could be broken through. In an active civili-
zation, even one with a fairly good technical development, the in*
dividual could always break away and lead, say, a mystical and
contemplative life. The fact that techniques and man were more or
less on the same level permitted the individual to repudiate tech-
niques and get along without them. Choice was a real possibility
for him, not only with regard to his inner life, but with regard to
the outer form of his life as well. The essential elements of life were
safeguarded and provided for, more or less liberally, by the very
civilization whose forms he rejected. In the Roman Empire (a
technical civilization in a good many respects), it was possible for
a man to withdraw and live as a hermit or in the country, apart
from the evolution and the principal technical power of the Em-
pire. Roman law was powerless in the face of an individual’s deci-
sion to evade military service or, to a very great degree, imperial
taxes and jurisdiction. Even greater was the possibility of the indi-
vidual's freedom with respect to material techniques.

There was reserved for the individual an area of free choice at
the cost of minimal effort. The choice involved a conscious decision
and was possible only because the material burden of technique
had not yet become more than a man could shoulder. The existence
of choice, a result of characteristics we have already discussed, ap-
pears to have been one of the most important historical factors gov-
erning technical evolution and revolution. Evolution was not, then,
a logic of discovery or an inevitable progression of techniques. It
was an interaction of technical effectiveness and effective human
decision. Whenever either one of these elements disappeared,
social and human stagnation necessarily followed Such was the
case, for example, when effective technique was (or became) rudi-
mentary and inefficacious among the Negroes of Africa. As to the
consequences of a lapse in the second element, we are experiencing
them today.

The New Characteristic e. The characteristics of the relationship
of technique, society, and the individual which we have analyzed

THE CHABACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

7 *)

were, I believe, common to all civilizations up to the eighteenth
century. Historically, their existence admits of little discussion.
Today, however, the most cursory review enables us to conclude
that all these characteristics have disappeared, The relation is not
the same; it does not present any of the constants recognizable
until now. But that is not sufficient to characterize the technical
phenomenon of our own day. This description would situate it in a
purely negative perspective, whereas the technical phenomemon is
a positive thing; it presents positive characteristics which are pe-
culiar to it. The old characteristics of technique have indeed dis-
appeared; but new ones have taken their place. Today’s technical
phenomenon, consequently, has almost nothing in common with
the technical phenomenon of the past. I shall not insist on demon-
strating the negative aspect of the case, the disappearance of the
traditional characteristics. To do so would be artificial, didactic,
and difficult to defend. I shall point out, then, in a summary fash-
ion, that in our civilization technique is in no way limited. It has
been extended to all spheres and encompasses every activity, in-
cluding human activities. It has led to a multiplication of means
without limit. It has perfected indefinitely the instruments available
to man, and put at his disposal an almost limitless variety of inter-
mediaries and auxiliaries. Technique has been extended geo-
graphically so that it covers the whole earth. It is evolving with a
rapidity disconcerting not only to the man in the street but to the
technician himself. It poses problems which recur endlessly and
every more acutely in human social groups. Moreover, technique
has become objective and is transmitted like a physical thing; it
leads thereby to a certain unity of civilization, regardless of the en-
vironment or the country in which it operates. We are faced with
the exact opposite of the traits previously in force. We must, there-
fore, examine carefully the positive characteristics of the technique
of the present.

There are two essential characteristics of today's technical phe-
nomenon which I shall not belabor because of their obviousness.
These two, incidentally, are the only ones which, in general, are
emphasized by the "best authors.”

The first of these obvious characteristics is rationality. In tech-
nique, whatever its aspect or the domain in which it is applied, a
rational process is present which tends to bring mechanics to bear

The Technological Society (79

on all that is spontaneous or irrational This rationality, best exem-
plified in systematization, division of labor, creation of standards,
production norms, and the like, involves two distinct phases: first,
the use of “discourse” in every operation; this excludes spontaneity
and personal creativity. Second, there is the reduction of method
to its logical dimension alone. Every intervention of technique is,
in effect, a reduction of facts, forces, phenomena, means, and in-
struments to the schema of logic.

The second obvious characteristic of the technical phenomenon
is artificiality. Technique is opposed to nature. Art, artifice, artifi-
cial: technique as art is the creation of an artificial system. This is
not a matter of opinion. The means man has at his disposal as a
function of technique are artificial means. For this reason, the com-
parison proposed by Emmanuel Mounier between the machine
and the human body is valueless. The world that is being created
by the accumulation of technical means is an artificial world and
hence radically different from the natural world.

It destroys, eliminates, or subordinates the natural world, and
does not allow this world to restore itself or even to enter into a
symbiotic relation with it The two worlds obey different impera-
tives, different directives, and different laws which have nothing in
common. Just as hydroelectric installations take waterfalls and lead
them into conduits, so the technical milieu absorbs the natural. We
are rapidly approaching the time when there will be no longer any
natural environment at all. When we succeed in producing artificial
aurorae boreales , night will disappear and perpetual day will reign
over the planet.

I have given only brief descriptions of these two well-known
characteristics. But I shall analyze the others at greater length; they
are technical automatism, self -augmentation, monism, universalism,
and autonomy.

Characteristics of Modem Technique

Automatism of Technical Choice . ‘The one best way”: so runs the
formula to which our technique corresponds. When everything has
been measured and calculated mathematically so that the method
which has been decided upon is satisfactory from the rational point

So ) THE CHARACTEROLOCT Or TECHNIQUE

of view, and when, from the practical point of view, the method is
manifestly the most efficient of all those hitherto employed or those
in competition with it, then the technical movement becomes self-
directing. I call the process automatism .

There is no personal choice, in respect to magnitude, between,
say, 3 and 4; 4 is greater than 3; this is a fact which has no personal
reference, No one can change it or assert the contrary or personally
escape it. Similarly, there is no choice between two technical meth-
ods. One of them asserts itself inescapably: its results are calculated,
measured, obvious, and indisputable.

A surgical operation which was formerly not feasible but can now
be performed is not an object of choice. It simply is. Here we see
the prime aspect of technical automatism. Technique itself, ipso
facto and without indulgence or possible discussion, selects among
the means to be employed. The human being is no longer in any
sense the agent of choice. Let no one say that man is the agent of
technical progress (a question I shall discuss later) and that it is
he who chooses among possible techniques. In reality, he neither
is nor does anything of the sort. He is a device for recording effects
and results obtained by various techniques. He does not make a
choice of complex and, in some way, human motives. He can decide
only in favor of the technique that gives the maximum efficiency.
But this is not choice. A machine could effect the same operation.
Man still appears to be choosing when he abandons a given method
that has proved excellent from some point of view. But his action
comes solely from the fact that he has thoroughly analyzed the re-
sults and determined that from another point of view the method
in question is less efficient. A good example is furnished by the
attempts to deconcentrate our <rreat industrial plants after we had
concentrated them to the maximum possible degree. Another ex-
ample would be the decision to abandon certain systems of high
production in order to obtain a more constant productivity, al-
though it might be less per capita. It is always a question of the
improvement of the method in itself.

The worst reproach modem society can level is the charge that
some person or system is impeding this technical automatism. When
a labor union leader says: “In a period of recession, productivity is
a social scourge,’ * his declaration stirs up a storm of protest and con-
demnation, because he is putting a personal judgment before the

The Technobgicd Society ( 8 1

technical axiom that what can be produced must be produced. If a
machine can yield a given result, it must be used to capacity, and it
is considered criminal and antisocial not to do so. Technical autom-
atism may not be judged or questioned; immediate use must be
found for the most recent, efficient, and technical process.

Communism’s fundamental criticism of capitalism is that finan-
cial capitalism checks technical progress that produces no profits;
or that it promotes technical progress only in order to reserve for
itself a monopoly. In any case, as Rubinstein points out, technical
progress occurs under capitalism for reasons which have nothing to
do with technique, and it is this fact which is to be criticized. Since
the Communist regime is oriented toward technical progress, the
mark of the superiority of Communism is that it adopts all technical
progress. Rubinstein concludes his study by remarking that this
progress is the goal of all efforts in the Soviet Union, where it is said
to be possible to allow free play to technical automatism without
checking it in any way.

Another traditional analysis supplements Rubinstein’s. This seri-
ous study, carried out by Thorstein Veblen, maintains that there is
a conflict between the machine and business. Financial investment,
which originally accelerated invention, now prolongs technical in-
activity. Capitalism does not give free play to technical activity,
the goal of which is that a more efficient method or a more rapidly
acting machine should ipso facto and automatically replace the pre-
ceding method or machine. Capitalism does not give free play to
these factors because it inadmissibly subordinates technique to ends
other than technique itself, and because it is incapable of absorbing
technical progress. The replacement of machines at the tempo of
technical invention is completely impossible for capitalist enter-
prise because there is no time to amortize one machine before new
ones appear. Moreover, the more these machines are improved, and
hence become more efficient, the more they cost.

The pursuit of technical automatism would condemn capitalist
enterprises to failure. The reaction of capitalism is well known:
the patents of new machines are acquired and the machines are
never put into operation. Sometimes machines that are already in
operation are acquired, as in the case of England's largest glass fac-
tory in 1933, and destroyed. Capitalism is no longer in a position
to pursue technical automatism on the economic or social plane. It

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

82)

is incapable of developing a system of distribution that would per-
mit the absorption of all the goods which technique allows to be
produced. It is led inevitably to crises of overproduction. And in the
same way it is unable to utilize the manpower freed by every new
technical improvement Crises of unemployment ensue.

Thus we return to the old schema of Marx: it is the automatism
of technique, with its demand that everything be brought into line
with it, that endangers capitalism and heralds its final disappear-
ance. This is an accurate criticism, and reveals two things. First,
that we are correct in speaking of automatism. If the situation of
capitalism is indeed as described, it is so because technical progress
acts automatically. The choice between methods is no longer made
according to human measure, but occurs as a mechanical process
which nothing can prevent. Capitalism, in spite of all its power,
will be crushed by this automatism. Second, that for the men of
our time, this automatism is just and good. If Communism can
make this critique of capitalism a successful springboard for propa-
ganda, it is only because the criticism is valid. And it is valid be-
cause everything can be called into question (God first of all), ex-
cept technical progress. There is nothing left to do but wonder at a
mechanism that functions so well and, apparently, so tirelessly. But,
above all else, no finger must be laid upon it, nor its automatism in-
terfered with. It is in this that the headway of technical progress
becomes automatic; when modern man renounces control over it
and cannot bring himself to raise his hand agahist it so as to make
the choice himself.

This, then, is the first aspect of technical automatism. Inside the
technical circle, the choice among methods, mechanism, organiza-
tions, and formulas is carried cut automatically. Man is stripped of
his faculty of choice and he is satisfied. He accepts the situation
when he sides with technique.

Let us examine the second aspect of automatism. When we leave
the technical domain proper, we find a whole ensemble of nontech-
nical means; among them a kind of preliminary process of elimina-
tion is taking place. The various technical systems have invaded all
spheres to the point that they are everywhere in collision with
modes of life which were heretofore nontechnical. Human life as a
whole is not inundated by technique. It has room for activities
that are not rationally or systematically ordered. But the collision

T he Technological Society ( 8 3

between spontaneous activities and technique is catastrophic for the
spontaneous activities*

Technical activity automatically eliminates every nontechnical
activity or transforms it into technical activity. This does not mean,
however, that there is any conscious effort or directive will

From the point of view which most interests modern man, that of
yield, every technical activity is superior to every nontechnical
activity. Take, for example, politics. It used to be said that politics
was an art, consisting of finesse, aptness, a particular kind of ability,
even genius; in short, of personal qualities which seemed to operate
by chance. If politics was to become a technical activity, chance
must be eliminated. The results to be obtained must be certain. Un-
predictability, which all men share to a greater or lesser degree,
must also be eliminated. Rules had to be established for this par-
ticularly unstable game if certainty of result was to be achieved.
The difficulty was great, but not greater, perhaps, than the difficulty
involved in harnessing atomic energy.

It was Lenin who established political technique. He did not suc-
ceed in formulating a complete set of principles for it, but from the
beginning he attained a twofold result Even a mediocre politician,
by the application of the "method,” was able to achieve a good aver-
age policy, to ward off catastrophes, and to assure a coherent politi-
cal line. Moreover, the method was far superior to nontechnical
policy; the same result could be obtained with fewer resources and
with much less expense.

On the military plane, the technique applied by Hitler (and it
was a technique, not military genius as with Napoleon — although it
is a mark of genius to develop a technique for war or for politics)
not only enabled him to achieve what was not necessarily a direct
result of his technique but, more important, it enabled him to resist
for three years an adversary who possessed approximately a fivefold
superiority in all areas — in numbers of men and military machines,
in economic {tower, and so on. This capacity to resist resulted from
the remarkable military technique of the Germans and from the per-
fectly developed relationship they worked out between nation and
army.

In the same way, the political technique of Lenin's school made,
and is making, possible the achievement of successes over all other
political forms, even when these political forms are able to bring

THE CHARACTEROL4 OT TECHNIQUE

««)

infinitely superior resources to bear. The tide of Leninian policy
retreats for certain periods before the superior weight of the enor*
mous politico-economic machines of the opponents. But to such &
political technique only another political technique can be opposed;
and since the American political technique, for example, is so in-
ferior, it must deploy instead an enormous expenditure of resources.
The superiority of a technique to enormous but inefficiently used
resources and machinery means that the point at which technique
inserts itself becomes a real turning point The milieu into which a
technique penetrates becomes completely, and often at a stroke, a
technical milieu. If a desired result is stipulated, there is no choice
possible between technical means and nontechnical means based on
imagination, individual qualities, or tradition. Nothing can compete
with the technical means. The choice is made a priori. It is not in the
power of the individual or of the group to decide to follow some
method other than the technical. The individual is in a dilemma:
either he decides to safeguard his freedom of choice, chooses to use
traditional, personal, moral, or empirical means, thereby entering
into competition with a power against which there is no efficacious
defense and before which he must suffer defeat; or he decides to
accept technical necessity, in which case he will himself be the
victor, but only by submitting irreparably to technical slavery. In
effect he has no freedom of choice.

We are today at the stage of historical evolution in which every-
thing that is not technique is being eliminated. The challenge to a
country, an individual, or a system is solely a technical challenge.
Only a technical force can be opposed to a technical force. All else
is swept away. Serge Tchakotin reminds us of this constantly. In
the face of the psychological outrages of propaganda, what reply
can there be? It is useless to appeal to culture or religion. It is use-
less to educate the populace. Only propaganda can retort to propa-
ganda, or psychological rape to psychological rape. Hitler formu-
lated this long before Tchakotin. He writes, in Mein Kampf:
“Unless the enemy learns to combat poison gas with poison gas, this
tactic, which is based on an accurate evaluation of human weak-
nesses, must lead almost mathematically to success.”

The exclusive character of technique gives us one of the reasons
for its lightning progress. There is no place for an individual today
unless he is a technician. No social group is able to resist the pres-

The Technological Society ( 8 5

sure* of the environment unless it utilizes technique, To be in pos-
session of the lightning thrust of technique is a matter of life or
death for individuals and groups alike; no power on earth can with-
stand its pressures,

Will the technical phenomena of today be able to maintain itself,
or must it suffer in its turn impairment or even liquidation? It is
difficult to see ahead, and, in any case, this is not the place to try to
do so. Doubtless, technique has its limits. But when it has reached
these limits, will anything exist outside them? Its limits are presup-
posed by its object and its method. But is it not succeeding in under-
mining everything which is outside it? Beyond its precise and lim-
ited compass, whatever its size, will there remain anything in exist-
ence? We shall be answering this question all through this book.
Within the technical circle nothing else can subsist because tech-
nique's proper motion, as Junger has shown, tends irresistibly to-
ward completeness. To the degree that this completeness is not yet
attained, technique is advancing, eliminating every lesser force.
And when it has received full satisfaction and accomplished its
vocation, it will remain alone in the field. Technique thus reveals
itself at once destroyer and creator, and no one wishes or is able to
master it.

Self-augmentation • The self-augmentation of technique also has
two aspects. At the present time, technique has arrived at such a
point in its evolution that it is being transformed and is progressing
almost without decisive intervention by man. Modern men are so
enthusiastic about technique, so assured of its superiority, so im-
mersed in the technical milieu, that without exception they are
oriented toward technical progress. They all work at it, and in every
profession or trade everyone seeks to introduce technical improve-
ment. Essentially, technique progresses as a result of this common
effort Technical progress and common human effort come to the
same thing. Vincent analyzes with great subtlety the multitude of
factors which intervene, each in its small way, in technical pro-
gress: the consumer, accumulation of capital, research bureaus and
laboratories, and the organization of production, which acts “in
some sense mechanically.* Technical progress appears to Vincent
to be *the resultant* of all these factors. In one sense, technique
indeed progresses by means of minute improvements which are the
result of common human efforts and are indefinitely additive until

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

86 )

they form a mass of new conditions that permit a decisive forward
step. But it is equally true that technique sharply reduces the role
of human invention. It is no longer the man of genius who discovers
something. It is no longer the vision of a Newton which is decisive.
What is decisive is this anonymous accretion of conditions for the
leap ahead. When all the conditions concur, only minimal human
intervention is needed to produce important advances. It might
almost be maintained that, at this stage of evolution of a technical
problem, whoever attacked the problem would find the solution.

The example of the steam engine and its manifold successive
small alterations is well known. This example is being repeated
today in all fields.

The accretion of manifold minute details, all tending to perfect
the ensemble, is much more decisive than the intervention of the
individual who assembles the new data, adds some element which
transforms the situation, and thus gives birth to a machine or to
some spectacular system that will bear his name.

This is the way progress takes place in the field of education, too.
After the general direction given by initiators (like Decroly or
Montessori), it is the findings of thousands of educators which
ceaselessly nourish the improvement of technique. In fact, educa-
tional systems are completely transformed as a result of practice —
without any one's being quite aware of it. In industrial plants, the
discovery of details is utilized in another way; to create interest on
the part of the worker in hia work. The worker is asked not only to
use the machine he operates, but also to study it to find flaws in its
operation, then to find remedies against these faults, and in addition
to determine how its productivity might be improved. The result is
the “suggestion box” by means of which workers may indicate their
ideas and plans for improvement.

This collective, anonymous research advances techniques almost
everywhere in the world by a like impulse, a striking result of self-
augmentation. It is noticeable that identical technical inventions are
produced simultaneously in many countries. To the degree that
science is taking on a more and more technical aspect, these dis-
coveries are made everywhere at the same time — a further indica-
tion that scientific discoveries are, in reality, governed by technique.

The smashing of the atom and the atomic bomb are characteris*

The Technological Society ( 8 j

tic of this simultaneity. In Germany, Norway, the U.S.S.R., the
United States, and France, research had reached almost the same
point in 1939. But circumstances upset European technical evolu-
tion and gave superiority to the United States. Among these circum-
stances were the invasion of Norway and France, the collapse of
Germany several months after the discovery, and the lack of means
and raw material in the U.S.S.R. What is true of scientific inventions
is much more true of technical inventions. Only lack of means halts
progress in certain countries. The more advanced a country is in the
employment of technique, the more material is required, whether
in numbers of men, raw materials, or complexity of machines. A
country must be wealthy to exploit techniques to a maximum. And
when the country is able to do this, technique returns a hundredfold
increase in its wealth. This is another element in self-augmenta-
tion.

It is still necessary to justify the term self -augmentation, since it
appears to be contradicted by what I have just been saying. If
technical advance is assured by the joint effort of thousands of
technicians, each of whom makes his contribution, it would seem
impossible to speak of self-augmentation. But there is another as-
pect which must be brought to light.

There is an automatic growth (that is, a growth which is not
calculated, desired, or chosen) of everything which concerns
technique. This applies even to mea Statistically, the number of
scientists and technicians has doubled every decade for a century
and a half. Apparently this is a self -generating process: technique
engenders itself. When a new technical form appears, it makes
possible and conditions a number of others. To take a plain and
elementary example: the internal-combustion engine made possible
and conditioned the techniques of the automobile, the submarine,
and so on. In the same way, once a technical procedure ha* been
discovered, it is applicable in many fields other than the one for
which it was primarly invented. The techniques of "operational
research,” for example, were devised to help make certain military
decisions. But it was immediately noted that they could be ap-
plied wherever any decision had to be made. As Earache, a special-
ist in these techniques, says: "The nature of the problems them-
•elves was secondary . . the methods of approach and the tech-

the charactxrolocy of technique

88 )

niques employed proved to have a general scope.* The same could
be said for the techniques of organization. There is, therefore, a self-
augmentation of the areas of application.

This does not necessarily mean an infinite or indefinite augmen-
tation of technique. I do not wish at this point to enter the realm of
prognosis, but predictions of the more or less rapid extinction of
technical progress seem to me to be contradicted by the facts.
Whether it be Lewis Mumford, say, declaring that the era of
mechanical progress is almost at an end, or Colin Clark announc-
ing the transition of secondary mechanical activities to tertiary ac-
tivities, they are exhibiting what can only be termed a dangerous
confidence.

Lewis Mumford shows that certain of our inventions cannot be
improved, that the possible domain of mechanical activity cannot
be extended, and that mechanical progress is limited by the nature
of the physical world. This last is true. But we are far from knowing
the total possibilities of the physical world. And after Mumford had
written that statement fifteen years ago, servomechanisms, radar,
and atom smashing were discovered. It is obvious that the augmen-
tation of machines cannot be unlimited. But, so as not to rest our
hopes on an alleged stagnation, it will be enough for this progress
to continue for another century.

What is true of mechnical techniques is also true of economic
techniques. I agree fully with the remarks of Leon Hugo Dupriez
when he points out the error of the “stagnation — of Wolf, for
example, who writes: “The law of the limit of technico-economic
development is that past progress closes the door to future progress.
Forfuture progress there remains in every case only a margin, only a
fraction, indeed only a small fraction, of past progress.* Dupriez’s
exposure of the error of statements like this seems to me so con-
vincing that I shall content myself with referring the reader to his
work.

On the other hand, Lewis Mumford shows (and, from another
perspective, this is also Colin Clark's thought) that the best organi-
zation will tend to reduce the use of certain machines. This is
rigorously exact. But this "best organization" is precisely technique
itself and, moreover, it comprises a mechanical element as well.
When Fourastie announces an augmentation of the tertiary, non-
mechanized sector, the extraordinary progress of administrative

The Technological Society (8 9

mechanization of the last ten years must be considered. This mecha-
nization completely modifies the conditions of human work by
what has been termed “the replacement of the organic and the
psychological by the mechanical.** It is certain that this fact will
entail the same social crisis of unemployment as in the “secondary”
sector. To take an example, the tabulator adds and prints 45,000
numbers an hour ( as compared with 1,500 for a trained employee).
It reads, calculates, analyzes, and prints 150 lines a minute, A
punching machine, attached to it, produces the punched cards
which recapitulate the results. The Gamma (a magnetic-drum
machine) has a “memory** with a capacity for 200,000 individual
items of data. A 1960-model calculating machine can handle 40,000
operations a second. The machine, along with organizational devel-
opment, is now the means of reducing both the number of em-
ployees and expenses, and also of reducing, on the collective plane,
the tertiary sector of manpower.

We can hardly agree that mechanical augmentation is decelerat-
ing. We are simply in another phase of technical progress: the
phase of assimilation, organization, and conquest of the other areas.
Here the progress to be made seems limitless, and consists primarily
in the efficient systematization of society and the conquest of the
human being. All that can be said is that, at best, technical activity
has changed its field of operation; it cannot be said that it has slowed
down.

Moreover, nothing argues that subsequently technical activity
will not again turn toward the world of machines with renewed
vigor. On the whole, it is the principle of the combination of tech-
niques which causes self -augmentation.

Self -augmentation can be formulated in two laws:

1. In a given civilization , technical progress is irreversible .

2. Technical progress tends to act , not according to an arith-
metic, but according to a geometric progression .

The first of these laws — and we base our conviction on the whole
of history — makes us certain that every invention calls forth other
technical inventions in other domains. There is never any question
of an arrest of the process, and even less of a backward movement
Arrest and retreat only occur when an entire society collapses. In
the transition to a successor, a certain number of technical proce
dures are lost. But, in the framework of the same civilization.

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

90 )

technical progress is never in question. Later I shall examine the
reasons for this. Technical progression is of the same nature as the
process of numbering; there is no good ground for halting the pro-
gression, because after each number we can always add 1. In tech-
nical evolution also, it seems that limits no longer exist Improve-
ments that result from the application of technique to the matter
at hand (whether it be physical or social) can be added uninter-
ruptedly; there is no reason for arresting the process. In arguing
thus, the qualification must be made that this can be said only of the
ensemble of techniques, of the technical phenomenon, and not
of any particular technique. For every technique taken by itself
there apparently exist barriers that act to impede further progress,
barriers to the addition of new inventions — but these can sometimes
be cleared, as the sound barrier has been for aircraft. For the tech-
nical phenomenon in its ensemble, however, a limitless progress is
open. This progress, as Wiener has shown, is a necessity. Since
techniques, proportionally to their development, exhaust the re-
sources of nature, it is indispensable to fill the vacuum so created
by a more rapid technical progress. Only inventions perpetually
more numerous and automatically increasing can make good the
unheard-of expenditures and the irremediable consumption of raw
materials such as wood, coal, petroleum, and even water.

What is it that determines this progression today? We can no
longer argue that it is an economic or a social condition, or educa-
tion, or any other human factor. Essentially, the preceding tech-
nical situation alone is determinative. When a given technical
discovery occurs, it has followed almost of necessity certain other
discoveries. Human intervention in this succession appears only as
an incidental cause, and no one man can do this by himself. But
anyone who is sufficiently up-to-date technically can make a valid
discovery which rationally follows its predecessors and rationally
heralds what is to follow.

Two points must be made more precise here. First, the tech-
nical consequences of a technical improvement are not necessarily
of a kind. Thus, a purely mechanical discovery may have repercus-
sions in the domain of social techniques or in that of organizational
techniques. For example, machines that use perforated cards affect
statistics and the organization of certain business enterprises. Con-

The Technological Society ( g i

versely, some kind of social technique (for instance, full employ-
ment) may entail an improvement in the techniques of economic
production.

Here we note the interdependence of techniques which is stated
in the second law of self -augmentation: technical progress tends to
be brought about according to a geometric progression, A technical
discovery has repercussions and entails progress in several branches
of technique and not merely in one. Moreover, techniques combine
with one another, and the more given techniques there are to be
combined, the more combinations are possible. Thus, almost with-
out deliberate will, by a simple combination of new data, incessant
discoveries take place everywhere; and whole fields are opened up
to technique because of the meeting of several currents. Material
techniques of communication, psychological techniques, commer-
cial techniques, techniques of authoritarian government, all com-
bine to produce the important phenomenon of propaganda, which
represents a new technique independent of all the rest and neces-
sarily produced as a consequence of the preceding phenomena.

This second law of self-augmentation explains a characteristic of
the technical movement which has engaged the attention of con-
temporary sociologists. This is the unevenness of technical develop-
ment. Enormous disparities exist not only in the various global areas
of technical expansion but also in each field within the various sec-
tors. Technique progresses more rapidly in one branch than in
another — and certain retrogressions are always possible. To Frankel
this unevenness of development is the key to the disturbances of
equilibrium and the social difficulties that the technical phenom-
enon provokes. According to Frankel, if all branches evolved in the
same rhythm, there would be no problem. Frankel's view, certainly
too simple, is probably not inexact. However, it explains little. In
fact, these clashing rhythms cannot be altered because of tech-
nical automatism.

Fourastie is right in arguing that technical progress is unpredict-
able. It cannot be known with certainty even a short time in advance
in what quarter the new technical invention will be produced,
precisely because such inventions are, for the most part, the result
of self -augmentation, ( Of course, a distinction must be made be-
tween invention and discovery.) Short of halting progress by force

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

9 *)

in an advanced sector, there are no means of bringing these rhythms
back into harmony; and the role of the individual is progressively
weakened.

The final point to make in discussing self -augmentation is that
technique, in its development, poses primarily technical problems
which consequently can be resolved only by technique. The present
level of technique brings on new advances, and these in turn add to
existing technical difficulties and technical problems, which de-
mand further advances still. This is a concrete problem in town
planning. A large city supposes a concentration of the means of
transport, air control, traffic organization, and so on. Each of these
permits the city to grow even larger and promotes new technical
advances. For example, to make housework easier, garbage-disposal
units have been put into use which allow the garbage to run off
through the kitchen sinks. The result is enormous pollution of the
rivers. It is then necessary to find some new means of purifying the
rivers so that water can be used for drinking. A great quantity of
oxygen is required for bacteria to destroy these organic materials.
And how shall we oxygenate rivers? This is an example of the way
in which technique engenders itself.

The mechanization of administrative work in business offices
raises the problem of a necessarily different kind of organization.
It is not merely a question of replacing human beings with machines
or of speeding up the work (of bookkeeping, for example), but
rather of effecting operations of a new type which must be inte-
grated into a new kind of organization. For example, the organiza-
tion of the whole system of inventory analysis ( with its four func-
tions of entering, grouping, totaling, and comparing) becomes
necessary. An ensemble of new techniques must be elaborated with-
out which the machine in question would be good for nothing,
resulting only in what Mas terms '‘pseudo-systematization”

The implications of self-augmentation become clearer: the in-
dividuaFs role is less and less important in technical evolution.
The more factors there are, the more readily they combine and the
more evident is the urgent need for each technical advance.
Advance for its own sake becomes proportionately greater and
the expression of human autonomy proportionately feebler.

Human beings are, indeed, always necessary. But literally anyone

The Technological Society ( 9 3

can do the job, provided he is trained to it Henceforth, men will be
able to act only in virtue of their commonest and lowest nature,
and not in virtue of what they possess of superiority and individ-
uality, The qualities which technique requires for its advance are
precisely those characteristics of a technical order which do not
represent individual intelligence. And here we enter into another
area, the nature of the technician.

In this decisive evolution, the human being does not play a part.
Technical elements combine among themselves, and they do so
more and more spontaneously. In the future, man will apparently
be confined to the role of a recording device; he will note the effects
of techniques upon one another, and register the results.

A whole new kind of spontaneous action is taking place here, and
we know neither its laws nor its ends. In this sense it is possible to
speak of the “reality” of technique — with its own substance, its own
particular mode of being, and a life independent of our power of
decision. The evolution of techniques then becomes exclusively
causal; it loses all finality. This is what economists such as Alfred
Sauvy mean when they say that “by a slow reversal . . . produc-
tion is more and more determined by the wishes of individuals in
their capacity as producers, than by their decisions as consumers."
In reality, it is not the “wishes” of the “producers” which control,
but the technical necessity of production which forces itself on the
consumers. Anything and everything which technique is able to
produce is produced and accepted by the consumer. The belief
that the human producer is still master of production is a dangerous
illusion.

Technique is organized as a closed world. It utilizes what the
mass of men do not understand. It is even based on human igno-
rance. As Charles Camichel says; “The worker cannot understand
the workings of modern industry.” The individual, in order to make
use of technical instruments, no longer needs to know about his
civilization. And no single technician dominates the whole com-
plex any longer. The bond that unites the fragmentary actions and
disjointedness of individuals, co-ordinating and systematizing their
work, is no longer a human one, but the internal laws of technique.
The human hand no longer spans the complex of means, nor does
the human brain synthesize man's acts. Only the intrinsic monism

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

94)

of technique assures cohesion between human means and acts.
Technique reigns alone, a blind force and more clear-sighted than
the best human intelligence.

This phenomenon of self-augmentation gives technique a
strangely harsh aspect. It resembles nothing other than itself. What-
ever the domain to which it is applied, man or God, technique
simply is; it undergoes no modifications in the movement which
is its being and essence. It is the only locus where form and
being are identical. It is only a form, but everything conforms to it.
Here technique assumes the peculiar characteristics which make it
a thing apart. A precise and well-defined boundary surrounds it:
there is that which is technique, and there is everything else, which
is not. Whoever passes this boundary and enters into technique is
constrained to adopt its characteristics. Technique modifies what-
ever it touches, but it is itself untouchable. Nothing in nature, or in
social or human life, is comparable with it. The intelligence of art or
war comes nowhere near that of technique, no more than does the
industry of ants or bees. A hybrid but not sterile being, and capable
of self-generation, technique traces its own limits and fashions its
own image.

Whatever the adaptations nature or circumstances demand of it,
technique remains self-identical in its characteristics and its course.
Hindrances seem to compel it to become, not something else, but
even more itself. Everything it assimilates strengthens it in its
traits. There is no hope of seeing it change into a fine and gracious
being: it is neither Caliban nor Ariel, but it has been able to take
Ariel and Caliban into the unconditioned circles of its universal
method.

Monism* The technical phenomenon, embracing all the
separate techniques, forms a whole. This monism of technique was
already obvious to us when we determined, on the basis of the
evidence, that the technical phenomenon presents, every-
where and essentially, the same characteristics. It is useless to look
for differentiations. They do exist, but only secondarily. The
common features of the technical phenomenon are so sharply

* The French word is unicttt or instcabilitt. I have adopted “monism*’ as the Eng-

lish equivalent. “Holism** might have been better. In any case, the accumulated
philosophical baggage of both these terms must be rejected and the meaning of the
term understood contextually, ( Tram. )

The Technological Society (95

drawn that it is easy to discern that which is the technical phenom-
enon and that which is not. The difficulties experienced in the study
of technique arise partly from the method to be used and partly
from terminology. They do not arise from the phenomenon itself,
which is eminently simple to fix.

To analyze these common features is tricky, but it is simple to
grasp them. Just as there are principles common to things as dif-
ferent as a wireless set and an internal-combustion engine, so the
organization of an office and the construction of an aircraft have
certain identical features. This identity is the primary mark of that
thoroughgoing unity which makes the technical phenomenon a
single essence despite the extreme diversity of its appearances.

As a corollary, it is impossible to analyze this or that element out
of it — a truth which is today particularly misunderstood. The great
tendency of all persons who study techniques is to make distinc-
tions. They distinguish between the different elements of technique,
maintaining some and discarding others. They distinguish between
technique and the use to which it is put. These distinctions are
completely invalid and show only that he who makes them has
understood nothing of the technical phenomenon. Its parts are
ontologically tied together; in it, use is inseparable from being.

It is common practice, for example, to deny the unity of the
technical complex so as to be able to fasten one s hopes on one or
another of its branches. Mumford gives a remarkable example of
this when he contrasts the grandeur of the printing press with the
horridness of the newspaper. “On the one side there is the gigantic
printing press, a miracle of fine articulation ... On the other the
content of the papers themselves recording the most vulgar and
elementary emotional states . . . There the impersonal, the co-
operative, the objective; here the limited, the subjective, the recalci-
trant, the ego, violent and full of hate and fear, etc. . . .” Unfortu-
nately, it did not occur to Mumford to ask whether the content of
our newspapers is not really necessitated by the social form imposed
on man by the machine.

This content is not the product of chance or of some economic
form. It is the result of precise psychological and psychoanalytical
techniques. These techniques have as their goal the bringing to the
individual of that which is indispensable for his satisfaction in the
conditions in which the machine has placed him, of inhibiting in

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OP TECHNIQUE

96 )

him the sense of revolution, of subjugating him by flattering him.
In other words, journalistic content is a technical complex expressly
intended to adapt the man to the machine.

It is certain that a press of high intellectual tone and great moral
elevation either would not be read (and then one would scarcely
see the wherefore of these beautiful machines ) or would provoke
in the long run a violent reaction against every form of technical
society, including the machine. This reaction would come about not
because of the ideas such a press would disseminate, but because
the reader would no longer find in it the indispensable instrument
for releasing his repressed passions.

In a sound evaluation of the problem, it ought never to be said:
on the one side, technique; on the other, the abuse of it There are
different techniques which correspond to different necessities. But
all techniques are inseparably united. Everything hangs together
in the technical world, as it does in the mechanical; in both, the
advisability of the isolated means must be distinguished from the
advisability of the mechanical “complex.** The claims of the me-
chanical “complex" must prevail when, for example, a machine too
costly or overrefined threatens to wreck the ensemble.

There is an attractive notion which would apparently resolve
all technical problems: that it is not the technique that is wrong, but
the use men make of it. Consequently, if the use is changed, there
will no longer be any objection to the technique.

I shall return more than once to this conception. Let us examine a
single aspect of it now. First, it manifestly rests on the confusion
between machine and technique. A man can use his automobile to
take a trip or to kill his neighbors. But the second use is not a use; it
is a crime. The automobile was not created to kill people, so the fact
is nut important. I know, of course, that killing people is not what
those wlho explain things in this way have in mind. They prefer to
say that man orients his pursuits in the direction of good and not of
evil. They mean that technique seeks to invent rational therapies
and not poison gases, useful sources of energy and not atomic
bombs, commercial and not military aircraft, etc. This leads them
straight back to man — man who decides in what direction to orient
his researches. ( Must it not be, then, that man is becoming better?)
But all this is an error. It resolutely refuses to recognize technical
reality. It supposes, to begin with, that men orient technique in a

The Technological Society ( 9 7

given direction for moral, and consequently nontechnical, reasons.
But a principal characteristic of technique (which we shall
study at length) is its refusal to tolerate moral judgments. It is
absolutely independent of them and eliminates them from its
domain. Technique never observes the distinction between moral
and immoral use. It tends, on the contrary, to create a completely
independent technical morality.

Here, then, is one of the elements of weakness of this point of
view. It does not perceive techniques rigorous autonomy with
respect to morals; it does not see that the infusion of some more or
less vague sentiment of human welfare cannot alter it. Not even the
moral conversion of the technicians could make a difference. At
best, they would cease to be good technicians.

This attitude supposes further that technique evolves with some
end in view, and that this end is human good. Technique, as I
believe I have shown, is totally irrelevant to this notion and pursues
no end, professed or unprofessed. It evolves in a purely causal
way: the combination of preceding elements furnishes the new
technical elements. There is no purpose or plan that is being pro-
gressively realized. There is not even a tendency toward human
ends. We are dealing with a phenomenon blind to the future, in a
domain of integral causality. Hence, to pose arbitrarily some goal or
other, to propose a direction for technique, is to deny technique and
divest it of its character and its strength.

There is a final argument against this position. It was said that
the use made of technique is bad. But this assertion has no meaning
at all. As I have pointed out, a number of uses can always be made
of the machine, but only one of them is the technical use. The use of
the automobile as a murder weapon does not represent the tech-
nical use, that is, the one best way of doing something. Technique is
a means with a set of rules for die game. It is a '‘method of being
used" which is unique and not open to arbitrary choice; we gain no
advantage from the machine or from organization if it is not used as
it ought to be. There is but one method for its use, one possibility.
Lacking this, it is not a technique. Technique is in itself a method
of action, which is exactly what a use means. To say of such a
technical means that a bad use has been made of it is to say that no
technical use has been made of it, that it has not been made to
yield what it could have yielded and ought to have yielded. The

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

98 )

driver who uses his automobile carelessly makes a bad use of it.
Such use, incidentally, has nothing to do with the use which
moralists wish to ascribe to technique. Technique is a use. Moralists
wish to apply another use, with other criteria. What they wish, to be
precise, is that technique no longer be technique. Under the cir-
cumstances, there are no further significant problems.

There is no difference at all between technique and its use.
The individual is faced with an exclusive choice, either to use the
technique as it should be used according to the technical rules, or
not to use it at all It is impossible to use it otherwise than according
to the technical rules.

Unfortunately, men today accept this reality only with difficulty.
Thus, when Mumford makes the statement: “The army is the
ideal form towards which a purely mechanical industrial system
must tend,” he is unable to restrain himself from adding: “But the
result is not ideal.” What is the “ideal” doing here? The ideal is not
the problem. The problem is solely to know whether this mode of
organization responds to technical criteria. Mumford is able to
show that it is nothing of the kind, because he limits techniques to
machines. But if he were to accept the role of human techniques in
the organization of the army he could account for the fact that the
army indeed remains the irreproachable model of a technical
organization, and its value has nothing to do with an ideal. It is
infantile to wish to submit the machine to the criterion of the ideal.

It is also held that technique could be directed toward that which
i* pu&ilive, constructive, and enriching, omitting that which is
negative, destructive, and impoverishing. In demagogic formula-
tion, techniques of peace must be developed and techniques of
war rejected. In a less simple-minded version, it is held that means
ought lu be sought which palliate, without increasing, the draw-
backs of technique. Could not atomic engines and atomic power
have been discovered without creating the bomb? To reason thus is
to separate technical elements with no justification. Techniques of
peace and alongside them other and different techniques of war
simply do not exist, despite what good folk think to the contrary.

The organization of an army comes to resemble more and more
that of a great industrial plant. It is the technical phenomenon
presenting a formidable unity in all its parts, which are inseparable.
The fact that the atomic bomb was created before the atomic

The Technological Society (99

engine was not essentially the result of the perversity of technical
men. Nor was it solely the attitude of the state which determined
this order. The action of the state was certainly the deciding factor
in atomic research (I shall take up this point later). Research was
greatly accelerated by the necessities of war and consequently
directed toward a bomb. If the state had not been oriented toward
the ends of war, it would not have devoted so much money to
atomic research. All this caused an undeniable factor of orientation
to intervene. But if the state had not promoted such efforts, it would
have been the whole complex of atomic research which would have
been halted without distinction between the uses of war and
peace.

If atomic research is encouraged, it is obligatory to pass through
the stage of the atomic bomb; the bomb represents by far the sim-
plest utilization of atomic energy. The problems involved in the
military use of atomic energy are infinitely more simple to resolve
than are those involved in its industrial use. For industrial use, all
the problems involved in the bomb must be solved, and in addition
certain others, a fact corroborated by J. Robert Oppenheimer in
his Paris lecture of 1958. The experience of Great Britain between
1955 and i960 in producing electricity of nuclear origin is very
significant in this respect.

It was, then, necessary to pass through the period of research
which culminated in the bomb before proceeding to its normal
sequel, atomic motive power. The atomic-bomb period is a transi-
tory, but unfortunately necessary, stage in the general evolution
of this technique. In the interim period represented by the bomb,
the possessor, finding himself with so powerful an instrument, is
led to use it. Why? Because everything which is technique is
necessarily used as soon as it is available, without distinction of good
or evil. This is the principal law of our age. We may quote here
Jacques Soustelle’s well-known remark of May, i960, in reference
to the atomic bomb. It expresses the deep feeling of us all: “Since
it was possible, it was necessary/’ Really a master phrase for all
technical evolution.

Even an author as well disposed toward the machine as Mumford
recognizes that there is a tendency to utilize all inventions whether
there is need for them or not. “Our grandparents used sheet iron
for walls although they knew that iron is a good conductor of

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OT TECHNIQUE

100 )

heat . . . The introduction of anesthetics led to the performance
of superfluous operations. . . * To say that it could be otherwise
is simply to make an abstraction of man.

Another example is the police. The police have perfected to an
unheard of degree technical methods both of research and of action.
Everyone is delighted with this development because it would seem
to guarantee an increasingly efficient protection against criminals.
Let us put aside for the moment the problem of police corruption
and concentrate on the technical apparatus, which, as I have
noted, is becoming extremely precise. Will this apparatus be ap-
plied only to criminals? We know that this is not the case; and we
are tempted to react by saying that it is the state which applies this
technical apparatus without discrimination. But there is an error
of perspective here. The instrument tends to be applied everywhere
it can be applied. It functions without discrimination — because it
exists without discrimination. The techniques of the police, which
are developing at an extremely rapid tempo, have as their neces-
sary end the transformation of the entire nation into a concentra-
tion camp. This is no perverse decision on the part of some party or
government. To be sure of apprehending criminals, it is necessary
that everyone be supervised. It is necessary to know exactly what
every citizen is up to, to know his relations, his amusements, etc.
And the state is increasingly in a position to know these things.

This does not imply a reign of terror or of arbitrary arrests. The
best technique is one which makes itself felt the least and which
represents tire least burden. But every citizen must be thoroughly
known to the police and must live under conditions of discreet
surveillance. All this results from the perfection of technical meth-
ods.

The police cannot attain technical perfection unless they have
total control. And, as Ernst Kohn-Bramstedt has remarked, this
total control has both an objective and a subjective side. Sub-
jectively, control satisfies the desire for power and certain sadistic
tendencies. But the subjective aspect is not the dominant one. It is
not the major aspect, the expression of what is to come. In reality,
the objective aspect of control — more and more, that is to say, the
pure technique which creates a milieu, an atmosphere, an environ-
ment, and even a model of behavior in social relations — dominates
more and more. The police must move in the direction of anticipat-

The Technological Society (101

ing and forestalling crime. Eventually intervention will be useless.
This state of affairs can come about in two ways: first, by constant
surveillance, to the end that noxious intentions be known in advance
and the police be able to act before the premeditated crime takes
place; second, by the climate of social conformity which we have
mentioned. This goal presupposes the paternal surveillance of every
citizen and, in addition, the closest possible tie-in with all other
techniques — administrative, organizational, and psychological. The
technique of police control has value only if the police are in close
contact with the trade unions and the schools. In particular, it is
allied with propaganda. Wherever the phenomenon is observed,
this connection exists. Propaganda itself cannot be efficient unless
it brings into play the whole state organization, and particularly the
police power. Conversely, police power is a genuine technique only
when it is supplemented by propaganda, which plays a leading role
in the psychological environment necessary to the completeness of
the police power. But propaganda must also teach acceptance of
what the police power is and what it can do. It must make the police
power palatable, justify its actions, and give it its psychosociological
structure among the masses of the people.

All this is equally true for dictatorial regimes in which police
and propaganda concentrate on terror, and for democratic regimes
in which the motion pictures, for example, show the good offices
of the police and procure it the friendly feeling of the public. The
vicious circle mentioned by Ernst Kohn-Bramstedt (past terror
accentuates present propaganda, and present propaganda paves
the way for future terror) is as true of democratic as of dictatorial
regimes, if the term terror is replaced by efficiency .

This type of police organization is not an arbitrary prospect. It is
maintained by every authoritarian government, where every citizen
is regarded as a suspect ignorant of his own capabilities. It is the
tendency in the United States, and we are beginning to see the first
elements of it in France. The administration of the French police
was oriented, in 1951, toward an organization of the system “in
depth.” This took place, for example, at the level of the Record
Office. Certain elements of this are simple and well known: finger-
print files, records of firearms, application of statistical methods
which allow the police to obtain in a minimum of time the most
varied kinds of information and to know from day to day the current

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

102 )

state of criminality in all its forms. Other elements are somewhat
more complicated and new. For example, a punched -card mechan-
ical index system (Recherches) has been installed in the Criminal
Division. This system offers four hundred possible combinations
and permits investigations to begin with any element of the
crime: hour of commission, nature, objects stolen, weapons used,
etc. The combination obviously does not give the solution but a
series of approximations.

The most important item in this catalogue of police techniques is
the creation of the so-called “suspect files,” which show whether the
police ever suspected any individual for any reason or at any time
whatsoever, even though no legal document or procedure ever
existed against him ( from the press conference of M. Baylot, Pre-
fect of Police, 1951). This means that any citizen who, once in his
life, had anything to do with the police, even for noncriminal rea-
sons, is put under observation — a fact which ought to affect, speak-
ing conservatively, half the adult male population. It is obvious
that these lists are only a point of departure, because it will be
tempting, as well as necessary, to complete the files with all observa-
tions which may have been collected.

Finally, this technical conception of the police supposes the
institution of concentration camps, not in their dramatic aspects,
but in their administrative aspects. The Nazi's use of concentration
camps has warped our perspectives. The concentration camp is
based on two ideas which derive directly from the technical con-
ception of the police: preventive detention (which completes pre-
vention), and re-education. It is not because the use of these terms
has not corresponded to reality that we feel it necessary to refuse to
see in the concentration camp a very advanced form of the system.
Nor is it because the so-called methods of re-education have, on the
whole, been methods of destruction that we feel we must consider
such a concept of “re-education" an odious joke. The further we
advance, the more will the police be considered responsible for the
re-education of social misfits, a goal that is a part of the very order
which they are charged with protecting.

We are experiencing at present the justification of this develop-
ment. It is not true that the perfection of police power is the result
of the state's Machiavellianism or of some transitory influence. The
whole structure of society implies it, of necessity. The more we mo-

The Technological Society ( i o j

bilize the forces of nature, the more must we mobilize men and the
more do we require order, which today represents die highest value.
To deny this is to deny the whole course of modem times. This
order has nothing spontaneous in it. It is rather a patient accretion
of a thousand technical details. And each of us derives a feeling of
security from every one of the improvements which make this
order more efficient and the future safer. Order receives our com*
plete approval; even when we are hostile to the police, we are, by a
strange contradiction, partisans of order. In the blossoming of
modem discoveries and of our own power, a vertigo has taken hold
of us which makes us feel this need to an extreme degree. After all,
it is the police who are charged, from die external point of view,
with insuring this order which covers organization and morals. How
then can we possibly deny to the police indispensable improve-
ments in their methods? *

We in France are still in the preparatory phase of this develop-
ment, but the organization of police power has been pushed very
far in Canada and New Zealand, to take two examples. Technical
necessity imposes the national concentration camp (which, I must
point out, does not involve the suffering usually associated with it).

Let us take another example. A new machine of great productive
power put into circulation “releases” a great quantity of work; it
replaces many workers. This is an inevitable consequence of tech-
nique. In the crude order of things, these workers are simply thrown
out of work. Capitalism is blamed for this state of affairs and we
are told that technique itself is not responsible for technological
unemployment and that the establishment of socialism would set
things right. The capitalist replies: “Technological unemployment
always dies out of itself. For example, it creates certain new activi-
ties which will in the long run create employment for qualified
workers.” This appears to be a dreadful prospect because it implies
a readaptation in time and a more or less lengthy period of un-
employment, But what does socialism propose? That the “liberated”
worker will be used somewhere else and in some other capacity.
In the Soviet Union the worker is either adapted to a new skill
by means of vocational training or he is sent to another part of the
country. In the Beveridge Plan the worker is employed wherever
the state opens a plant of any sort. This socialist solution involves
readaptation in space. But this solution, too, appears to be com-

104 ) I'ME CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

pletely alien to human nature. Man is not a mere package to be
moved about, an object to be molded and applied wherever there is
need. These two forms of readaptation, the only ones possible,
are both inhumane. The New Work Code promulgated in the
(East) German Democratic Republic in November, i960, shows
this inhumanity in operation in the socialist camp. And none of
these adaptations can be separated from the machine which re-
places human labor. They are its necessary and inevitable conse-
quence. Of course, idealists will speak of the reduction of the work
week. But this reduction can only be effected when equivalent
technical improvements are produced in all fields of work. Accord-
ing to Colin Clark, it seems that this reduction, too, must “ceiling
out** before long. But tliis consideration passes over into the area
of economics.

I could cite innumerable examples, but the ones I have given
suffice to show that technique in itself (and not the use made of it,
or its non-necessary consequences) leads to a certain amount of
suffering and to social scourges which cannot be completely sepa-
rated from it. This is its very mechanism.

Of course, a technique can be abandoned when it proves to have
evil effects which were not provided for. From then on, there will
be an improvement in the technique. A characteristic example is
furnished by J. de Castro in The Geography of Hunger. De Castro
shows in detail, with regard to Brazil, what was already known
superficially about other countries, that certain techniques of ex-
ploitation have proved disastrous. According to de Castro, certain
regions were deforested in order to grow sugar cane. But only the
immediate technical productivity was considered. In a further
work, de Castro seeks to show that the hunger problem was created
by application of the capitalist and colonialist system to agriculture:
His reasoning, however, is correct only to a very limited extent. It
is true that when an agriculture of diversified crops is replaced by
a single-crop economy for commercial ends (tobacco and sugar
cane), capitalism is to blame. But most often crop diversification is
not disturbed. What happens is that new areas are brought under
cultivation, producing a population increase and also a unilateral
utilization of the labor forces. And this is less a capitalist than a
technical fact. If the possibility of industrializing agriculture exists,
why not use it? Any engineer, agronomist, or economist of a hun-

The Technological Society ( i o 5

dred years ago would have agreed that bringing uncultivated
lands under cultivation constituted a great advance. The applica-
tion of European agricultural techniques represented an incom-
parable forward step, when compared, for example, to Indian
methods. But it involved certain unforeseen consequences: the re-
sulting deforestation modified hydrographic features, the rivers
became torrents, and the drainage waters provoked catastrophic
erosion. The topsoil was completely carried away and agriculture
became impossible. The fauna, dependent on the existence of the
forest, disappeared. In this way, the food-producing possibilities of
vast regions vanished. The same situation is developing as a result
of the cultivation of peanuts in Senegal, of cotton in the South of
the United States, and so on. None of this represents, as is com-
monly said, a poor application of technique — one guided by selfish
interest. It is simply technique. And if the situation is rectified “too
late” by the abandonment of the old technique, it will only be as a
consequence of some new technical advance. In any case, the first
step was inevitable; man can never foresee the totality of conse-
quences of a given technical action. History shows that every tech-
nical application from its beginnings presents certain unforeseeable
secondary effects which are much more disastrous than the lack of
the technique would have been. These effects exist alongside those
effects which were foreseen and expected and which represent
something valuable and positive.

Technique demands the most rapid possible application; the
problems of our day are evolving rapidly and require immediate
solutions. Modern man is held by the throat by certain demands
which will not be resolved simply by the passage of time. The
quickest possible counter-thrust, often a matter of life or death, is
necessary. When the parry specific to the attack is found, it is used.
It would be foolish not to use the available means. But there is
never time to estimate all the repercussions. And, in any case, they
are most often unforeseeable. The more we understand the inter-
relation of all disciplines and the interaction of the instruments,
the less time there is to measure these effects accurately,

Moreover, technique demands the most immediate application
because it is so expensive. It must "pay off,” in money, prestige,
or force (depending on whether the regime is capitalist, Com-
munist, or Fascist, respectively). There is no time for precautions

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

1 06 )

when the distribution of dividends or the salvation of the prole-
tariat is at stake. Nor can we permit ourselves to say that these
motives are no affair of technique. If none of them existed, there
would be no money for technical research and there would be no
technique. Technique cannot be considered in itself, apart from its
actual modes of existence.

We are brought back, then, to serious facts of this order: in
certain agricultural research in England, antiparasitic agents called
systemics were applied. An injection was made into a fruit tree,
which as a consequence was infected with the agent from its
roots to its leaves. Every parasite died. But nothing is known of the
effects on the fruit, or of the effects on man, and in the lotig run of
the effects on the tree. All that is known is that the agent is not an
immediate deadly poison for the consumer. Such products are al-
ready commercially available, and it is probable that they will
shortly be used on a large scale. What we have said about systemics
holds for the specific insecticide, D.D.T. It was announced origi-
nally that this insecticide was completely harmless for warm-
blooded animals. Subsequently, D.D.T. was widely used. But it
was noted in 1951 that D.D.T. in fatty solution (oily or otherwise)
is actually a poison for warm-blooded animals and causes a whole
complex of disturbances and diseases, in particular, rickets. This
fatty solution may be produced entirely by accident, as when cows
treated with this chemical produce milk containing D.D.T. Rickets
has been detected in calves nourished with such milk. And several
international medical congresses since 1956 have drawn attention
to the grave danger to children.

But the real question is not the question of error. Errors are
always possible. Two facts alone concern us: it is impossible to
foresee ail the consequences of a technical action; and technique
demands that everything it produces be brought into a domain that
affects the entire public.

The weight of technique is such that no obstacle can stop it. And
every technical advance is matched by a negative reverse side. An
excellent study of the effect of petroleum explorations in the Sahara
(1958) concludes with the observation that the most serious prob-
lem is the increase in the wretchedness of the local population. The
causes of this growing misery, among others, are: the supplanting of
caravan traffic by motor vehicles; the disappearance of the date

The Technological Society ( 1 07

palms (diseased through widespread chemical wastes); and the
disappearance of cereal grains because of nonmaintenance of the
irrigation works. This complex seems to represent a typical example.

The human being is delivered helpless, in respect to life’s most
important and most trivial affairs, to a power which is in no sense
under his control. For there can be no question today of man’s con-
trolling the milk he drinks or the bread he eats, any more than of his
controlling his government. The same holds for the development of
great industrial plants, transport systems, motion pictures, and so
on. It is only after a period of dubious experimentation that a tech-
nique is refined and its secondary consequences are modified
through a series of technical improvements. Henceforth, someone
will say, it will be possible to tame the monster and separate the
good results of a technical operation from the bad. That may be.
But, in the same framework, the new technical advance will in its
turn produce further secondary and unpredictable effects which are
no less disastrous than the preceding ones ( aithough they will be of
another kind). De Castro declares that the new techniques of soil
cultivation presuppose more and more powerful state control, with
its police power, its ideology, and its propaganda machinery. This
is the price we must pay,

William Vogt, surveying the same problem, is still more precise:
in order to avoid famine, resulting from the systematic destruction
of the topsoil, we must apply the latest technical methods. But con-
servation will not be put into practice spontaneously by individuals;
yet, these methods must be applied globally or they will not amount
to anything. Who can do this? Vogt, like all good Americans, asserts
that he detests the authoritarian police state. However, he agrees
that only state controls can possibly produce the desired results. He
extols the efforts made by the liberal administration of the United
States in this respect, but he agrees that the United States continues
“to lose ground literally and figuratively," simply because the
methods of American agricultural administration are not authori-
tarian enough.

What measures are to be recommended? The various soils must
be classified as to possible ways to cultivate them without destroy-
ing them. Authoritarian methods must be applied in order (a) to
evacuate the population and to prevent it from working the im-
periled soil; and (b) to grow only certain products on certain typei

THE CHARACTJEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

108)

of soil. The peasant can no longer be allowed freedom in these
respects. This evolution is to be facilitated by centralization of the
great land holdings. In Latin America there are today from 20 to 40
million ecologically displaced persons, persons occupying lands
which ought not to be under cultivation.They are living on hillsides
from which it is absolutely necessary to drive them if the means of
existence of their countries are to be saved from destruction. It will
be difficult and costly to relocate these people, but Latin America
has no choice. If she does not solve this problem, she will be re-
duced to the most miserable standard of living.

All experts on agricultural questions are in fact in fundamental
agreement. De Castro (although hostile to the ideas of Vogt) and
Dumont (critical of de Castro on certain points) come to the con-
clusion that only strict planning on a world scale can solve the prob-
lems of agriculture, and that only human relocation and collective
distribution of wealth can solve the problem of famine. This can
only mean that man, if he is to improve the traditional agricultural
techniques and be rid of their drawbacks, will be obliged to apply
extremely rigorous administrative and police techniques. Here again
we have a good example of the interconnection of different elements
and of the unpredictability of the secondary effects.

It was believed for a long time that the TVA was a praiseworthy
response to certain problems raised by technique. Today, however,
certain major flaws have become apparent. For example, the correct
application of methods of reforestation and animal reproduction
w r ere not understood. Flood control was not carried out by retention
of the water in the soil but by submerging permanently a good part
of the lands which have been saved to protect others. Man, we
repeat, is never able to foresee the totality of effects of his tech-
nique. No one could have foreseen that regulating the Colorado
River for irrigation purposes would lead the Pacific Ocean to en-
croach upon the coast of California, or that it would endanger
the valleys (which had been “regulated”) by the removal of up to
500 tons a day of sand and rock. It is likewise impossible to foresee
the effect of techniques intended to control the weather, dispel
clouds, precipitate rain or snow, and so on. In another area,
Professor Lemaire, in a study of narcotic drugs, shows that tech-
nique permits the manufacture of synthetic narcotics with greater
and greater ease and in increasing quantities. But, according to

The Technological Society { * 09

Lemaire, the control of these drugs is thereby rendered more and
more difficult because *we cannot predict whether they will or
will not be dangerous. The only proof is their habitual use by
addicts. But to obtain this proof requires ) ears of experience.**

There is scarcely need to recall that universal famine, the most
serious danger known to humanity,* is caused by the advance of
certain medical techniques which have brought with them good and
evil inextricably mixed. This is not a question of good or bad use.
No more so is the problem, posed by atomic techniques, of the dis-
posal of atomic waste. Atomic explosions are not the real problem.
The real problem continues to be that of the disposal of the
ceaselessly accumulating waste materials, despite the reassuring
but unfortunately partisan explanations of some atomic scientists.
The International Agency for Atomic Energy recognized, in 1959,
that these wastes represent a deadly peril and that there is no sure
way of avoiding it, except perhaps by means of the difficult process
of "vitrification” being undertaken in Canada. And all this involve*
the peaceful use of the atom!

In every case, what can really be foreseen more or less clearly is
the need of state intervention to control the effects of technical
applications. But by the time a technique is modified in the light
of these effects, the evil has already been done. When it is proposed
to "choose** between effects, it is always too late. It is doubtless still
possible to modify any given element, but only at the price of
secondary repercussions. Again, it is doubtless possible to produce,
by means of rational exploitation of natural resources, enough food
to nourish five billion human beings. But this can be accomplished
only at the price of forced labor and a new kind of slavery. What-
ever point we choose to examine, we always perceive this inter-
relation of techniques. In 1960, the World Congress for the Study of
Nutrition considered the problem of how modem nutrition i* viti-
ated by the use of chemical products which are themselves sig-
nificant contributory causes of the so-called diseases of civilization
(cancer, cardiovascular illnesses, etc.). But the Congress** studies
indicate that the solution can no longer be a return to a "naturaF
nutrition. On the contrary, a further step must be taken which
involves completely artificial alimentation, so-called rational ali-

•That this problem can be solved seems doubtful to most recent congresses, the
Vevey Congress of i960 among them.

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OP TECHNIQUE

110 )

mentation. It will not be sufficient merely to control grains, meat,
butter, and so forth. The stage at which this would have been
feasible has been passed. New technical methods must be found.
But can we be assured that this new alimentation will in its turn
present no danger?

Every rejection of a technique judged to be bad entails the appli-
cation of a new technique, the value of which is estimated from the
point of view of efficiency alone. But we are always unaware of the
more remote repercussions. History shows us that these are seldom
positive, at least when we consider history as a whole instead of
contenting ourselves with examining disconnected phenomena such
as the population increase, the prolongation of the average life
span, or the shortening of the work week. These are symptoms
which perhaps would have meaning if man were merely an animal,
but which have no conclusive significance if man is something more
than a production machine.

However, it is not my intention to show that technique will end in
disaster. On the contrary, technique has only one principle: efficient
ordering. Everything, for technique, is centered on the concept of
order. This explains the development of moral and political doc-
trines at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Everything which
represented an ordering principle was taken in deadly earnest. At
the same time the means destined to elaborate this order were
exploited as never before. Order and peace were required for the
development of the individual techniques (after society had
reached the necessary stage of disintegration ) . Peace is indispensa-
ble to the triumph of industrialization. It will be hastily concluded
from this that industrialization will promote peace. But, as always,
logical deductions falsify reality. J. U. Nei has shown admirably
that industrialization cannot act otherwise than to promote wars.
This is no accident, but rather an organic relation. It holds not only
because of the direct influence of industrialization on the means of
destruction but also because of its influence on the means of ex-
istence. Technical progress favors war, according to Nef, because
(a) the new weapons have rendered more difficult the distinction
between offense and defense; and ( b ) they have enormously re-
duced the pain and anguish implied in the act of killing.

On another plane, the distinction between peaceful industry and
military industry is no longer possible. Every industry, every tech-

The Technological Society ( j 1 1

nique, however humane its intentions, has military value. “The
humanitarian scientist finds himself confronted by a new dilemma:
Must he look for ways to make people live longer so that they are
better able to destroy one another?” Nef has described all this
remarkably well It is no longer a question of simple human be-
havior, but of technical necessity.

The technical phenomenon canncft be broken down in such a
way as to retain the good and reject the bad. It has a “mass” which
renders it monistic. To show this we have taken only the simplest,
and hence the most easily debatable, examples. To enable the
reader to grasp fully the reality of this monism, it would be neces-
sary to present every problem with all its implications and ramifi-
cations into other fields. The case of the police, for example, cannot
be considred merely within its specific confines; police technique
is closely connected with the techniques of propaganda, adminis-
tration, and even economics. Economics demands, in effect, an
increasing productivity; it is impossible to accept the nonproducers
into the body social — the loafers, the coupon-clippers, the social
misfits, and the saboteurs — none of these have any place. The police
must develop methods to put these useless consumers to work. The
problem is the same in a capitalist state ( where the Communist is
the saboteur) and in a Communist state (where the saboteur is the
internationalist in the pay of capitalism).

The necessities and the modes of action of all these techniques
combine to form a whole, each part supporting and reinforcing the
others. They constitute a co-ordinated phenomenon, no element of
which can be detached from the others. It is an illusion, a perfectly
understandable one, to hope to be able to suppress the “bad” side
of technique and preserve the “good.” This belief means that tire
essence of the technical phenomenon has not been grasped.

The Necessary Linking Together of Techniques . We have seen
how the two technical characteristics, self-augmentation and
monism, combine. Now we must consider the historical, necessary
linking up of all the different techniques. This analysis will complete
my discussion of these two characteristics.

Machine technique appeared after 1750. The technical state of
mind was first manifested in the application of the principles of
science. We already know how this necessity arose ( it is emphasized
in all textbooks). The flying shuttle of 1733 made a greater pro-

THE CHARACTEROIXCY OF TECHNIQUE

U£)

duction of yam necessary. But production was impossible without
a suitable machine. The response to this dilemma was the invention
of the spinning jenny by James Hargreaves. But then yam was
produatd in much greater quantities than could possibly be used
by the weavers. To solve this new problem, Cartwright manu-
factured his celebrated loom. In this series of events we see in its
simplest form the interaction that accelerates the development of
machines. Each new machine disturbs the equilibrium of pro-
duction; the restoration of equilibrium entails the creation of one
or more additional machines in other areas of operation.

Production becomes more and more complex. The combination
of machines within the same enterprise* is a notable characteristic of
the nineteenth century. It is impossible, in effect, to have an isolated
machine. There must be adjunct machines, if not preparatory ones.
This need, which is not clearly evident in the textile industry (a
loom is relatively self-sufficient), is singularly well defined in the
metallurgical industry. Fabrication in this area consists of multiple
inseparable operations. For each of these operations, one or more
machines are needed. This gives rise to a complex enterprise which
demands the application of the organization of production. The
need for organization of machines is found even in the textile
industry. A large number of looms must be grouped together in
order to utilize the prime mover most effectively, since no indi-
vidual loom consumes very much energy. To obtain maximum yield,
machines cannot be disposed in a haphazard wav. Nor can produc-
tion take place irregularly. A plan must be followed in all technical
domains. And this plan, which becomes more and more inflexible in
proportion to increasing production, is the product of a technique
of organization and of operation.

Organizational technique was still very sketchy at the beginning
of the nineteenth century. But with the increase in the number of
manufactured products, new commercial methods had to be
createid. Capital, labor, producers, and consumers had to be found.
Three new kinds of technique emerged: commercial, industrial,
and transportational. Commercial techniques developed at the
beginning of the nineteenth century with the same velocity as
industrial techniques. These commercial techniques exploited all
the old systems which had previously existed sporadically and

The Technological Society (113

without much vigor. Bills of exchange, banks, clearing houses,
double-entry bookkeeping, and the like, were further developed.

The need to distribute manufactured goods thus acted to produce
a powerful commercial technique, which, however, proved to be
incapable of assuring proper distribution. The accumulation of
capital (produced by the machine and also necessitated by it) be-
came die source of an international financial organization, with
its systems of great firms, insurance, credit, and the corporation
with limited liabilities. The corporation was indispensable in view
of die magnitude of the commercial traffic generated by sheer
concentration.

But the two systems, commercial and financial, were only able
to function at full capacity if they were in a position to dispose of
their merchandise at the most favorable point, as determined by
commercial techniques. This implied the rapid, regular, and certain
transport of merchandise. Hence, systems of transport had to be
assured if financial and commercial techniques were to be able to
operate. A new technique came into being, transport, which was
not a direct result of the machine. It was a separate branch; and
organization played a greater role in it than the machine itself ( in
railway routes and timetables, problems of eminent domain, etc.).

At the period this technical torrent was emerging from industrial
enterprise, a crowd of human beings began to gather about the
machine. A great number of individuals were necessary to service
it; an equally great number were required to collect about it to com-
sume its products. The first great change consisted in forcing the
consumer to come to the machine, inasmuch as adequate means of
transportation were to come fifty years too late. With this develop-
ment came the hitherto unknown phenomenon of the big city.
At the beginning, the big city engendered no particular technique;
people were merely unhappy in it But it soon appeared that mega-
lopolis represented a new and special kind of environment, calling
for special treatment. The technique of city planning made its ap-
pearance. At first, urban planning was only a clumsy kind of adap-
tation which was little concerned, for example, with slums (despite
the efforts of the utopian planners of the middle of the century).
Somewhat later, as big city life became for the most part intolera-
ble, techniques of amusement were developed. It became indis-

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

n 4 )

pensable to make urban suffering acceptable by furnishing amuse-
ments, a necessity which was to assure the rise, for example, of a
monstrous motion-picture industry.

This phase of development was still dominated by the machine,
and corresponded to what Mumford has called the paleotechnical
period. During this period the instruments of the power mentality
developed. It became apparent that mechanical improvements
alone do not suffice to yield socially valuable results. This was
clearly a period of transition in which inventions had not yet com-
pletely overthrown the older institutions. And they had not yet
touched human life, except indirectly. It was a period of disorder.
And the most glaring manifestation of this disorder was man’s ex-
ploitation of man. This disorder, however, led to a strenuous search
for order, which developed first in the economic field. For some
time it had been possible to believe that the increasing flow of
merchandise would be absorbed automatically. But the illusions
of liberalism collapsed very quickly. Little by little, the liberal
system broke down before the profusion of goods which the ma-
chine blindly poured forth. It was inescapable that only technical
methods of distribution would be able to cope with the problems
created by technical methods of production. There was no way
around it. A mechanism of distribution and consumption was nec-
essary, as precise as the mechanism of production, which itself was
not yet sufficiently precise, merely because it was mechanical. It
was imperative that the different parts of the productive mecha-
nism be adjusted and that the goods produced correspond exactly
to the need, in quantity as well as in quality. It was no longer suffi-
cient to organize enterprise. The entire production had to be
organized in all its details. And if production were completely or-
ganized, there could be no question of allowing consumption
(which had, in the meantime, become mechanized) to operate
without its own world-wide organization. These logical interac-
tions, which emerged first on the national level, were soon found
on the international level as well.

The development of this mechanism inevitably implied the most
perfect possible economic technique. This economic technique in
turn would permit the utilization of new machines. Reciprocally,
certain other instruments would facilitate the improvement of the
economic technique. Moreover, uothing could be left to chance.

The Technological Society ( J 1 5

in this kind of organization; the labor supply in particular could not
be entrusted to the whim of the individual. Economic organization
presupposes a technique of labor, (The precise form of this tech-
nique is of little consequence to us here. We are interested only in
the principle.) Labor had to be systematized; it had to become
scientific. Thus, of necessity a new technique was added to the pre-
ceding ones. But at the same time it became mandatory to com-
pensate the workers for the fatigue generated by technical labor.
Here we meet again the necessity for additional mass amusement
— a necessity which the existence of the big city had already pro-
voked, The cycle was inevitable.

The whole edifice was constructed little by little, and all its indi-
vidual techniques were improved by mutual interaction. Before
long, however, the need for still another instrument appeared. Who
was to co-ordinate this multiplicity of techniques? Who was to
build the mechanism necessary to the new economic technique?
Who was to make binding the decisions necessary to service the
machines? The individual is not by himself rational enough to ac-
cept what is necessary to the machines. He rebels too easily. He
requires an agency to constrain him, and the state had to play this
role — but the state now could not be the incoherent, powerless, and
arbitrary state of tradition. It had to be an effective state, equal to
the functioning of the economic regime and in control of every-
thing, to the end that machines which had developed at random
should become “coherent.” To this end, the state itself must be
coherent. Thus, the techniques of the state — military, police, ad-
ministrative, and political — made their appearance. Without them,
all the rest would have been no more than faint hopes unable to at-
tain maximum development. They intermingled, necessitating one
another, and all of them necessitated by the economy.

It soon became evident that such external action was insufficient.
A great effort was required of the individual, and this effort he
could not make unless he was genuinely convinced, not merely
constrained. He must be made to yield his heart and will, as he had
yielded his body and brain. And so the techniques of propaganda,
education, and psychic manipulation came to reinforce the others.
Without them, man could scarcely have been equal to his organiza-
tions and his machines. Without them, technique could not have
been completely certain of its operation. To the degree that material

THE CHARACTEKOLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

ll6)

techniques became more precise, intellectual and psychic tech-
niques became more necessary. By these means man acquired the
conviction and strength needed to make possible the maximum
utilization of the others. So the edifice was completed.

It is impossible to amputate a part of the system or to modify it
in any way without modifying the whole. The system was not built
through whim or personal ambition. Its factors were all reciprocally
engendered.

In this description we have constantly encountered the term
necessity; it is necessity which characterizes the technical uni-
verse. Everything must accommodate itself to it with mathematical
certainty. Every successive technique has appeared because the
ones which preceded it rendered necessary the ones which fol-
lowed. Otherwise they would have been inefficacious and would
not have been able to deliver their maximum yield.

It is useless to hope for modification of a system like this — so com-
plex and precisely adjusted that no single part can be modified by
itself. Moreover, the system perfects and completes itself unremit-
tingly. And, except in print, I see no sign of any modification of the
technical edifice, no principle of a different social organization that
would not be founded on technical necessity.

Technical U nicer salisnu This characteristic of the technical phe-
nomenon manifests itself under two aspects, the first geographic
and the second qualitative.

From the geographic point of view, it is easy to see that tech-
nique is constantly gaining ground, country by country, and that
its area of action is the whole world. In all countries, whatever
their degree of "civilization,” there is a tendency to apply the same
technical procedures. Even when the population of a given country
is not completely assimilated technically, it is nevertheless able to
use the instruments which technique puts into its hands. The peo-
ple of these countries have no need to be Westernized. Technique,
to be used, does not require a “civilized” man. Technique, what-
ever hand uses it, produces its effect more or less totally in propor-
tion to the individual's more or less total absorption in it.

Vogt emphasizes this fact, for example, when he shows that in
the domain of agriculture the most up-to-date techniques have be-
come universal. Never before, says Vogt, has man destroyed his
natural environment “with the inexorableness of an armored divi-

The Technological Society ( 1 1 7

sion. These civilized' forces of destruction, which have been de-
veloped under our influence, have conquered the entire globe to
such a degree that Malays, Hottentots and Ainas are spreading the
plague."

In the course of history there have always been different princi-
ples of civilization according to regions, nations, and continents.
But today everything tends to align itself on technical principles.
In the past, different civilizations took different "paths”; today all
peoples follow the same road and the same impulse. This does not
mean that they have all reached the same point, but they are situ-
ated at different points along the same trajectory. The United
States represents the type that France will represent in thirty years,
and China in possibly eighty. All the business of life, from work
and amusement to love and death, is seen from the technical point
of view. The number of “technical slaves” is growing rapidly, and
the ideal of all governments is to push as fast as possible toward
industrialization and technical enslavement.

I am well acquainted with the perfectly valid arguments which
turn on economic necessity and the misery of the so-called “back-
ward" peoples. But the problem is not the process involved; it is
simply to note that different societies are adopting Western tech-
nique. The Vevey Congress of 1960 forcefully emphasized this
point. Although, understandably, the primary problem of the un-
derdeveloped peoples is undernourishment, obsession with tech-
nique has befuddled them to such a point that what they are de-
manding, and what we are offering, is the very industrialization
that will aggravate the evil. Technique is the same in all latitudes
and hence acts to make different civilizations uniform. This tend-
ency arises directly from technique itself. The Oriental, Russian,
and South American societies were by no means historically pre-
pared, as was ours, to favor technical development

The best sociologists have noted that technique involves the
same effects everywhere, R, P. Lynton writes: “The industrializa-
tion of a community of Europe or America, on the one hand; or of
Siam, Nigeria, Turkey, or Uruguay, on the other, poses the same
problems." If the technical movement had had its inception in one
of these “backward” countries, it would have aborted. But these
societies are presented with a technical movement in full vigor and
in all its expansive power. No longer is there any question as to

THE CHAlUCTEnOLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

118)

whether circumstances favorable to its flowering exist. The tech-
nical movement is strong enough to impose itself and to break down
all barriers to its progress.

But why does this expansion exist at all? Until now it was gen-
erally accepted that very similar social environments were neces-
sary if propagation of techniques were to occur. This is no longer
true. Today technique imposes itself, whatever the environment.
This expansive force can be explained by a whole ensemble of
historical reasons (more or less superficial, though true), and by
one profound reason (to be examined later on).

The historical reasons are bound up with two great currents
which have occasioned the technical invasion : commerce and war.
Colonial war opened the door to those European nations that
possessed the whole complex of technical means. The conquering
nations exported their machines and their organization through
their armies. The vanquished peoples, in a state of mind com-
pounded of admiration and fear, adopted the machines, which
came to replace their gods. Not only were the machines the means
their conquerors had used to subdue them, but the machines repre-
sented the possible means for liberation from these conquerors. In
these colonies traffic in arms and in all the instruments of power
began to flourish as a means of provoking insurrection. At first,
rebellion was incoherent, but to the degree that these peoples be-
came better organized and technicized, rebellion became a national
affair.

War also involved the backward peoples globally. I have in
mind not so much the direct effects of colonial war as the effects of
wars among so-called civilized nations. The colonies of Germany
and France became involved in the war between these nations.
Later on, China and Siberia came in. Yakuts rode in tanks in the
front line of the Red Army. War provokes the sudden and stupefy-
ing adaptation of the “savage” to machinery and discipline.

The second factor governing technical invasion is commerce. It
was mandatory for the Western powers to conquer the markets
necessary for Western industry and technical life. No barrier could
oppose this necessity; and primitive peoples were literally
swamped by the products of modem technique. In 1945 the Ameri-
cans sent tons of individual military rations to the Bulgarians, who
had no desire at all to adapt themselves to a new kind of butter and

The Technological Society ( 1 1 9

to other substitutes. But their resistance necessarily yielded to tech-
nical adaptation and, very rapidly, to plain abundance. The exces-
siveness of the means broke down all traditional and individual
desires.

After consumer goods came an invasion of productive tech-
niques, Technical invasion is a question not only of colonialism but
also, for the less powerful countries, of simple technical subordina-
tion. This, and this only, explains the formation of the two blocs
today. All political or economic explanations are superficial and
ridiculous. There are two great technical powers, the United States
and the Soviet Union. Every other country must subordinate itself
to one or the other of the two simply because of their technical
superiority. Technical invasion is not exclusively colonial in-
vasion but assumes other forms as well.

The phenomenon of present-day decolonialization is closely re-
lated to the possibilities of the technical development of peoples
who, up to now, have lived in symbiosis with colonial powers. From
the very moment of “independence,” these peoples are constrained
to appeal for assistance to the two major powers; after all, they can-
not possibly be self-sufficient on the technical plane. The major
powers then equip them in a “disinterested” way. In fact, of course,
the major powers have no choice if they cherish any hope at all that
the poverty of these new “free” nations will not make them theatres
of endemic war (not to mention the fact that the major powers are
themselves in competition). Thus, the best and most moral inten-
tions (as, for example, Harry S. Trumans Point Four aid to colonial
lands ) lead to a rapid technicization of the world; and every polit-
ical phenomenon accelerates this technicization, which necessarily
assumes a Western look.

The expensive factors are clearly favored by the elementary
technical facts. Consider, for example, the speed and thoroughness
of the means of communication, which permit technical products
to be transported anywhere in the world soon after their appear-
ance in the country of origin. The result of this must be speedy
unification.

The very means of communication presuppose such unification.
Great ocean-going vessels necessitate continually improved port
installations everywhere. Railroads demand identical roadbeds in
all countries. Aviation requires a whole technical substructure.

1 20 ) THE CHAR ACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

which is becoming more important day by day and which must be-
come ever more uniform as tonnage and speed increase.

The creation of the port of Lavera, near Port-de-Bouc, is a case
in point To construct a harbor for oil tankers to meet the de-
mands of the French market, it was necessary to conform exactly
to the international requirements of petroleum shipping. These de-
mands are wholly technical: depth of channel for modem tank-
ers of more than 30,000 tons, special docks, relay reservoirs fitted
with technical improvements exactly adapted to the tankers, and
so on. It was clearly impossible to continue to do without these
facilities. In French home ports today, the petroleum brought in
by the large tankers must first be discharged by small lighters to
plants which are either floating installations or of insufficient pump-
ing capacity. This results in loss of time and excessive handling.
Every ton of crude oil bears an extra burden of approximately
three dollars. These factors are clear and are leading to the accept-
ance of the most modem procedures — which reciprocally contrib-
utes to world-wide technical unification.

There is still another element in the mechanism of technical
expansion: the export of technicians. This is not only a question of
German technicians going, for example, to the United States or to
Russia. (This exodus, incidentally, was accompanied by a certain
technical flowering which rendered German technique truly in-
ternational.) There is the same diffusion of American technique to
underdeveloped countries by the application of President Trumans
Point Four Program. Academicians are supplied who are charged
with blueprinting the future of underdeveloped peoples. (This
form of technical assistance assimilates intellectually the inhabi-
tants of the countries in question.) In addition, the United States
directly supplies the necessary technicians for exploiting the natu-
ral resources of these countries. The immediate purpose is to raise
the standard of living of the population, beginning with a realistic
appraisal of the possibilities of the given country, and the final ob-
jective is a perfectly humanitarian one; we can refrain from passing
judgment on whether American imperialism is involved. Neverthe-
less, this leads to a diffusion of techniques throughout the world in
an accelerated tempo, and at the same time it leads to technical
identity in all countries.

A certain educational unity is also involved here. Every citizen

The Technological Society ( 121

of an underdeveloped country must become adept in the use of
the new techniques. This leads to the extension of European-style
education, allows the colored peoples to participate actively in
scientific progress, and provokes as a consequence a kind of a
priori adhesion to technical diffusion. Since 1956 we have been
witnessing the saifie diffusion of technicians from the Soviet Union,
and more recently from China, to Syria, Guinea, Ghana, and Cuba.
Without entertaining political suspicions of these acts, let us bear
in mind only that these factors, among others, are an active aid to
technical invasion.

Technical invasion does not involve the simple addition of new
values to old ones. It does not put new wine into old bottles; it
does not introduce new content into old forms. The old bottles are
all being broken. The old civilizations collapse on contact with the
new. And the same phenomenon appears under every possible cub
tural form. Take, for example, religion. We have seen one religion
disappear under our very eyes as a result of a technical fact: Mi-
kado worship vanished after the bomb was dropped at Hiroshima.
We are witnessing the collapse of Buddhism under Communist
pressure in Tibet and China. And, according to recent studies.
Buddhism is vanishing for technical reasons, not because of the
ideological effect of Communism. The phenomenon is due, on the
one hand, to a brutal and massive infusion of industrial techniques
and, on the other, to the use of propaganda techniques which en-
tail the abandonment of religion by the ever growing population.
In a certain sense these religious people are not left without reli-
gion. To their transcendental religion a “social” religion is opposed,
a religion which is but an expression of technical progress.

Even the most classically oriented sociologists today recognize
that the impact of techniques is producing a collapse of the non-
Westem civilizations. This involves the collapse of cultural as well
as of economic forms, and of the traditional psychological and
sociological structures.

UNESCO has been greatly preoccupied with these questions,
and both the Bulletin of the Social Sciences and the reports of Dr.
Margaret Mead strike an alarming note. Investigators find, in effect,
that it is easy to transfer technical procedures, but that the elabora-
tion of sociological and psychological methods of controlling them
is slow, difficult, and laborious.

12 %) THE CHARACTEHOLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

One is always running up against the simple-minded tendency
to say, as Charles F. Frankel puts it, that “it is sufficient to give
technical procedures and their accumulated blessings to the back-
ward peoples in order to put them on their feet, as one might give
an injection to a sick man/’ This kind of injection may conceivably
help. But in giving it, we destroy the traditional ways of life. Tech-
nique does not, of itself, carry its own equilibrium. The opposite is
nearer the truth. We have seen in the West how technique des-
troyed communities and brought the relevance of the human being
into question, even though technique was born in the Western
milieu and grew only slowly. How much more formidable are its
effects when it is suddenly implanted in a foreign environment, ap-
pearing in all its power at a single stroke. In Africa the worker is
separated from his family and, as S. Herbert Frankel says, “his
social ego remains attached to the rural group while he himself has
been transplanted into an industrial milieu. When his family comes
to the city they are completely unprepared for urban life and are
destroyed in that environment morally and sociologically.” In
Australia we find the same collapse of the traditional way of life.
A. P. Elkin says: “In the tribe, authority belonged to the eld-
ers .. . but it is now in process of passing to the corral boss,
or to the ranch owner. . . . The mysterious rites, which are asso-
ciated with the succession of the seasons and with the search for
food, and which in the past occupied a great deal of time, are tend-
ing to lose their meaning.” It would he easy enough to give many
more examples.

Every culture must be considered as a whole. The transformation
of a given element through the effect of technique produces shocks
in all areas. All the peoples of the world today live in a cultural
breakdown provoked by the conflicts and the internal strife re-
sulting from technique. Over and above this — as Margaret Mead
points out — since every human being incorporates in his own per-
son the cultural environment in which he lives, its disagreements
and incoherences are to be met with again in each individual
personality.

Moreover, we are poorly equipped to respond to this cultural
collapse. We have few studies of the mentality and the needs of
these peoples, and even fewer studies of their psychological reac-
tions to technique. We have no studies of the social and adminis-

The Technological Society (123

trative measures that might meet their needs, or of their changes
in aptitudes. We never send along with our technique any civilized
environment or adaptable value capable of replacing what is being
destroyed. This, at any rate, is the diagnosis of UNESCO, an
agency generally characterized by optimism.

The situation is being studied now, but for the most part we are
too late. All the instruments ought long since to have been pre-
pared, for no natural adaptation or spontaneous reorganization can
be counted upon. No hope of this exists. We have no instruments
ready. And while the problem is being studied, the ravages of
technique are making steady inroads. We are in a veritable race,
but it is evident that we are beaten before we begin. The effects of
technique are already too far advanced for us to begin again at
the beginning. There is no doubt that all the traditional cultures
and sociological structures will be destroyed by technique before
we can discover or invent social, economic, and psychological
forms of adaptation which might possibly have preserved the
equilibrium of these peoples and societies.

In the political sphere the phenomenon takes the form of the
brutal transition from elementary forms of society to the fully
developed modern dictatorship. A major part of the world s popu-
lation has passed in a few years from serfdom or feudalism to the
most punctilious dictatorial state, by virtue and necessity of pro-
ductive and administrative techniques. The Soviet Union, Turkey,
and Japan are well-known examples.

The problem of dictatorship is likewise posed by decolonializa-
tion. Either one succeeds in organizing the country and in estab-
lishing a centralized authoritarian state (as has occurred in
Ghana, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Sudan) or anarchy reigns (as in the
Belgian Congo, Cameroon J. Halfway liberal successes (as, for
example, Tunisia) are infinitely rare and fragile.

As to economics, it seems scarcely necessary to discuss these
problems. All the traditional economic structures of production and
distribution in Africa and Asia are exploding in the presence of the
new technical means. Up to the time of Western intervention, life
on the Asiatic continent was highly stable; populations and envi-
ronments were in equilibrium. Of course, things were far from be-
ing perfect; undernourishment, for example, was always a danger.
But certain civilizations were harmonious enough; some of them

the characterglogt of technique

1*4)

endured much longer than our own. Everyone, I believe, agrees
that the tribulations of modem Asia stem in part from the com-
plexity that the West has imposed on it, the complexity and density
of structure provoked by the indispensable application of tech-
niques.

In all areas, then, technique is producing the rapid collapse of
all other civilizations. When we speak of the collapse of these civili-
zations, we are speaking only of sociological forms. Even the weak-
est civilizations preserve certain values which, in Roger Bastide’s
words, permit them to “maintain a mental equilibrium which cul-
tural shock might shatter. . . . The social situation allows the old
complexes to remain alive which, not being fulfilled any longer
through ancestral customs, create for themselves new defense
mechanisms.” But it is very probable that this situation is only
temporary; even these psychological reserves will be attacked and
absorbed by technique when the so-called human techniques
( those which have man for their object ) are applied to them.

Obviously, the effect of technique on these groups will not be
the same everywhere. Detailed sociological studies have been
made of the various phenomena of assimilation, regrouping, func-
tioning, and marasmus or progressive dissolution. According to
these studies, there has not been comparable and identical pro-
gression in every case. However, behind this diversity is to be
noted an absolute incompatibility between the technical type of
civilization and all the others. Technicians have not willed this
outcome; no one seeks consciously to destroy a civilization. This
is simply the proverbial collision between the earthenware pot and
the iron pot. What happens, happens, despite the best possible
intentions of the iron pot.

li might be said: “This is not necessary. Why should the simple
fact of bringing more well-being to India ruin the Hindu civiliza-
tion?” I do not know if it is necessary, but nevertheless it is so. A
civilization which is collapsing cannot be re-created abstractly.
It is too late to turn back and enable these worlds to live. What
has been given them is not simply well-being. This well-being pre-
supposes a transformation of all of life: work where there had been
only laziness; machines and their accessories, organs of co-ordina-
tion and rational administration, and internal adherence to the
regime.

The Technological Society ( i % 5

Technique cannot be otherwise than totalitarian. It can be truly
efficient and scientific only if it absorbs an enormous number of
phenomena and brings into play the maximum of data. In order to
co-ordinate and exploit synthetically, technique must be brought to
bear on the great masses in every area. But the existence of tech-
nique in every area leads to monopoly. This is noted by Jacques
Driencourt when he declares that the technique of propaganda is
totalitarian by its very nature. It is totalitarian in message, meth-
ods, field of action, and means. What more could be required?

One could require more. Totalitarianism extends to whatever
touches it, even things which seem, at first sight, very remote from
it. When technique has fastened upon a method, everything must
be subordinated to it. There are no longer any neutral objects or
situations. Claude Munson forcefully demonstrates that psychologi-
cal technique, as it operates in the army or in a great industrial
plant, entails a direct action on the family. It involves psycholog-
ical adaptation of family life to military or industrial methods,
supervision of family life, and training family life for military or
industrial service. Technique can leave nothing untouched in a
civilization. Everything is its concern.

It will be objected: “If these transformations do take place, tech-
nique alone is not responsible. Many other factors have contrib-
uted; for example, the intellectual superiority of the white race, the
corruption of these other civilizations, and the population growth/
In fact, all these factors refer back to the problems of techniques.
Indeed, Western intellectual superiority is only manifested in the
technical domain. And the alleged corruption of the Chinese and
Islamic civilizations depends solely on the criteria by which they
are judged. In making the objection, we are in effect judging solely
on the basis of technical criteria.

Again, it will be objected: “Granting all this, is it not the case
that coexistence, and even synthesis, has been possible between
these two kinds of life? After all, when the Barbarians invaded the
Roman Empire, a successful synthesis eventually took place." But
the historical situation was clearly not the same then as it is to-
day. In fact, it was the Roman civilization which, being technical,
endured. The civilizations threatened today by our own can offer
no effective resistance because they are nontechnical.

The decisive factor which leads me to reject the three objections

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

1 * 6 )

just stated is that our technique, which is destroying all other civili-
zations, is more than a simple mechanism: it is a whole civilization
in itself.

We have analyzed the combination of circumstances that
favored technical development in the West and guaranteed its
easy diffusion. Since technique has engulfed civilization, a very
remarkable effect has been observed — in fact, a complete reversal.
When technique penetrates a new milieu, it tends to reproduce in
this milieu the circumstances which, in a fortuitous way, it found
favorable to itself in the nineteenth century in France and Eng-
land. At least, it reproduces those features which it is possible and
necessary to reproduce. It is of small importance for technique to
hit upon a long cultural experience or a favorable demographic
situation. On the contrary, social plasticity and a clear technical
consciousness are the general terms which it forcibly imposes in
every area of the world. It dissociates the sociological forms, des-
troys the moral framework, desacralizes men and things, explodes
social and religious taboos, and reduces the body social to a collec-
tion of individuals. The most recent sociological studies (even
those made by optimists) hold that technique is the destroyer of
social groups, of communities (whatever their kind), and of
human relations. Technical progress causes the disappearance, as
Jerome Scott and R. P. Lynton put it, of that “amalgam of attitudes,
customs and social institutions which constitute a community”
Communities break up into their component parts But no new
communities form. The individual in contact with technique loses
his social and community sense as the frameworks in which he op-
erated disintegrate under the influence of techniques. This fact is
established beyond question by the disappearance hf responsibili-
ties, functional autonomies, and social spontaneities, the absence of
contact between the technical and the human environment, and so
forth. In the area of industrial labor, for example, sociologists point
out the physical separation between the industrial plant and the
social group in which the plant is situated (the city, say). In tra-
ditional societies, the social and the economic aspects of life were
inextricably meshed into a social whole. But in a technical society
the two aspects are strictly separated; this in itself brings about
the dissolution of the entire group. Related activities such as pro-
duction and social relations cannot be separated without ruining

The Technological Society ( 1 2 7

the whole society. However, to the degree that production is tech-
nique and social relations is not, the two are of necessity dissociated.
This is the conclusion reached by innumerable detailed studies of
social groups at the point at which technique begins to function.
The conclusion is equally true of the industrialized milieus of Eu-
rope, America, Asia, and Africa, The situation cannot be otherwise.
The technicians themselves are very clear on this point. For exam-
ple, an official report of 1958 on the perspectives of economic devel-
opment in Algeria indicated that this development can only be
brought about by changing the Algerians’ whole way of life, in
particular, by putting the still seminomad masses to work. Develop-
ment involves economic planning, displacement of populations,
mobilization of the local economy, acceptance of authoritarian po-
litical power, modification of local moral habits and traditional
mentalities; in short, a New Deal of the Emotions! These are the
conditions proposed and (and considered normal) for technical
progress in the ‘Third World.” 4 Technique makes its sociological
compost pile where it does not find one already made. And it pos-
sesses sufficient power and efficiency today to succeed. Before long,
it will produce everywhere that clear technical consciousness which
is the easiest of its creations to bring about, and which man falls in
with so willingly. The world that technique creates cannot be any
other than that which was favorable to it from the very beginning.
In spite of all the men of good will, all the optimists, all the doers
of history, the civilizations of the world are being ringed about
with a band of steel. We in the West became familiar with this
iron constraint in the nineteenth century. Now technique is me-
chanically reproducing it everywhere as necessary to its existence.
What force could prevent technique from so acting, or make it be
otherwise than it is?

Technique has progressively mastered all the elements of civiliza-
tion. We have already pointed this out with regard to man s eco-
nomic and intellectual activities. But man himself is overpowered
by technique and becomes its object. The technique which takes
man for its object thus becomes the center of society; this extraordi-
nary event (which seems to surprise no one) is often designated
as technical civilization. The terminology is exact and we must fully

* Sauvy, Balandier, et al.: Le Tiers Monde.

128) THE CHARACTEHOLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

grasp its importance. Technical civilization means that our civili-
zation is constructed by technique (makes a part of civilization only
what belongs to technique), for technique (in that everything in
this civilization must serve a technical end), and is exclusively
technique (in that it excludes whatever is not technique or reduces
it to technical form ) .

We can see that this is actually the case in certain phenomena
considered essential to a civilization, for example, art and litera-
ture. These activities in modem society are tightly subordinated
in different ways to technical necessities by the direct interference of
technique. Take, for example, the motion pictures, radio, and tele-
vision. These media require great capital investments. As a result,
artistic expression is subordinated to a censorship of money or of
the state. This censorship most often takes the form of indirect in-
fluences, which, again, may assume different guises. Personal music
is supplanted by the radio; and painting, threatened by photogra-
phy, is obliged to modify itself by becoming abstract so as not to
be a mere substitute for reproduction. Modem art and literature
manifest in all points their subordination to the technique which
has extended its power over all activity, and hence over all culture.

Herein lies the inversion we are witnessing. Without exception in
the course of history, technique belonged to a civilization and was
merely a single element among a host of nontechnical activities.
Today technique has taken over the whole of civilization. Certainly,
technique is no longer the simple machine substitute for human la-
bor. It has come to be the “intervention into the very substance
not only of the inorganic but also of the organic."

This intervention into the inorganic world is represented, for ex-
ample, by the exploration of the atom and its use for purposes as
yet unknow.. But the w orld which is most clearly taking on a tech-
nical form is the organic. In this realm the necessity of production
penetrates to the very sources of life. It controls procreation, influ-
ences growth, and alters the individual and the species. Death,
procreation, birth, habitat; all must submit to technical efficiency
and systematization, the end point of the industrial assembly line.
\yhat seems to be most personal in the life of man is now techni-
cized. The manner in which he rests and relaxes becomes the object
of techniques of relaxation. The way in which he makes a deci-
sion is no longer the domain of the personal and voluntary; it has

The Technological Society (129

become the object of the techniques of “operations research * As
Giedion says, all this represents experimentation at the very roots
of being.

How is it possible, then, not to believe that all of civilization is
affected and engulfed when the very substance of man is ques-
tioned? The essence of civilization is thus absorbed.

Concerning art, Giedion goes on to say: “What happened to art
in this period gives us the most intimate vision possible of the pene-
tration in depth of the human being by mechanization. Ban s re-
vealing selections in his Cubism and Abstract Art show us how the
artist, who reacts like a seismograph, expresses the influence of full
mechanization . . . Mechanization has penetrated into the sub-
conscious of the artist. Chirico expresses it in a remarkable way in
the mixture he makes of man and machine . . . The anxiety, the
solitude of man forms a melancholy architecture of the preced-
ing epoch and its mechanical dolls, painted in the smallest details
with a tragic expression. 1 *

We have the large-scale frescoes of L 4 ger which construct the
image of cities out of signs, traffic signals, and machine parts. Even
the Russians and Hungarians, who in 1920 were far from mechani-
zation, were inspired by his creative power. In the hands of Du-
chanu and others, the machine, marvel of efficiency, was trans-
formed into an irrational object, charged with irony. At the same
time, a new aesthetic language was introduced.

To free themselves from a corrupt art and the prevailing taste,
artists have recourse to objects such as machines and mechanisms
because these objects contain an objective truth. What is true of
the plastic arts is likewise true of music. Preoccupation with “ob-
jectivity” is prevalent there, too. Igor Stravinsky writes: “My work
is architectonic and not anecdotal; objective construction and not
descriptive.** These are the words of a man unconsciously steeped
in the technical milieu. Since Stravinsky wrote this, music has been
still further transformed by means of techniques which were not
originally musical techniques, that is, neither musical methodology
nor instrument construction. I have in mind Schaeffer's “concrete
music,** Ussachewsky's “music for tape,” and Eimert's electronic
music, all of which make use of technical means that are not a
priori musical. In none of these types of music is there any longer
the need for a performer. The ancestral musical structures disin-

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

* 3 °)

tegrate and are atomized and we have a phenomenon that is funda-
mentally new. We shall doubtless see ever more refined and ex-
acting research into musical technique, and the dominant
musical structure and rhythm will undoubtedly correspond en-
tirely to the technical environment.

The external structures imposed by technique can no longer, by
themselves, modify the components of a society; here the internal
influence of technique on the human being becomes decisive.
Henceforth, every component of civilization is subject to the law
that technique is itself civilization. Civilization no longer exists of
itself. Every activity — intellectual, artistic, moral — is only a part of
technique. This fact is so enormous and unpredictable that we
are simply unable to foresee its consequences. Most of us, blinded
by traditional and well-established situations, are unable to grasp
its meaning. Henceforth, there will be no conflict between contend-
ing forces among which technique is only one. The victory of tech-
nique has already been secured. It is too late to set limits to it
or to put it in doubt. The fatal flaw in all systems designed to
counterbalance the power of technique is that they come too late.

Under these circumstances, it is understandable that technique,
in all the lands it has penetrated, has exploded the local, national
cultures. Two cultures, of which technique is one, cannot coexist.
This does not mean, of course, that uniformity prevails. There are
still great differences from region to region. But for the most part
these differences are due to the fact that the vestiges of a civiliza-
tion Lake a long time to disappear completely. Technique has al-
ready gained its victory over Buddhism. It is clear, however, that it
will take two or three generations to modify the mode of life and
thought engendered by Buddhism. A certain diversity will per-
sist while this mode of life is weakening. Technique does not lead
to general uniformity. In fact, it creates a certain diversity. Its ob-
jectives are always the same, and so is its influence on man. But
though it is axiomatic that the one best way will prevail, this one
best way will vary with climate, country, and population. The more
technique is refined, the more it varies its means of action. There-
fore, we shall continue to have the appearance of different civili-
zations in India and in Greenland. They will indeed be different in
certain aspects. But their essence will be identical; they will be
techniques. And what differences there are will result from the cold

The Technological Society ( 1 3 1

calculation of some technician, instead of being the result of the
profound spiritual and material effort of generations of human be*
ings. Instead of being the expression of man’s essence, they will be
the accidents of what is essential: technique.

The differences which exist today are therefore without impor-
tance in relation to the fact of technical identity. The differences
to come will bear upon the most diverse activities and give the
illusion of liberty. But they will nevertheless be no more than the
expression of the monism of technique. Geographically and quali-
tatively, technique is universal in its manifestations. It is devoted,
by nature and necessity, to the universal. It could not be otherwise.
It depends upon a science itself devoted to the universal, and it is
becoming the universal language understood by all men. We need
not belabor the fact, which everyone recognizes, that science is uni-
versal. And this fact in turn leads of necessity to the technical uni-
versalism which stems from it.

The second of the two elements we referred to (production and
social relations) requires more explication. In his relation to the
world, man has always made use of multiple means, none of which
were universal because none were objective. Technique is a means
of apprehending reality, of acting on the world, which allows us to
neglect all individual differences, all subjectivity. Technique alone
is rigorously objective. It blots out all personal opinions. It effaces
all individual, and even all collective, modes of expression. Today
man lives by virtue of his participation in a truth become objective.
Technique is no more than a neutral bridge between reality and
the abstract man.

Technique, moreover, creates a bond between men. All those
who follow the same technique are bound together in a tacit
fraternity and all of them take the same attitude toward reality.
There is no need for them to converse together or to understand
one another. A team of surgeons and assistants who know the tech-
nique of a given operation have no need to address one another in
order that the necessary motions be correctly performed at the right
moment.

Industrial labor likewise tends more and more to dispense with
orders and personal contact. This was pushed to an extreme in the
concentration camps, where men of different nations were mixed
together so that they should have no contacts and yet be able to

1 3 2 ) THE CHARACTERS OF TECHNIQUE

perform collective work. It was hasty and superficial work, to be
sure, but a little more rigor could easily make this labor really pro-
ductive (as seems to be the case in the Soviet Union). One cannot
speak merely of isolation. These men work in teams, but there is
no need for them to know or understand one another. They need
only understand the technique involved and know in advance what
their teammate will do. It is not necessary for the crew to under-
stand one another in order to run an aircraft. The indicator panel
controls the actions to be performed; and every crew member, sub-
mitting by necessity and conscience to the automatic indications,
obeys for the safety of alL Each man’s actions are dictated by the
conditions of life and its preservation. This is clear in the case of
flying an aircraft. But it is equally clear in every other situation in-
volving technique — and this encompasses the most important areas
of life. Men do not need to understand each other in order to carry
out the most important endeavors of our times.

Technique is of necessity, and as compensation, our universal
language. It is the fruit of specialization. But this very specializa-
tion prevents mutual understanding. Everyone today has his own
professional jargon, modes of thought, and peculiar perception of
the world. There was a time when the distortion of overspecializa-
tion was the butt of jokes and a subject for vaudeville. Today the
sharp knife of specialization has passed like a razor into the living
flesh. It has cut the umbilical cord which linked men with each
other and with nature. The man of today is no longer able to under-
stand his neighbor because his profession is his whole life, and the
technical specialization of this life has forced him to live in a closed
universe. He no longer understands the vocabulary of the others.
Nor does he comprehend the underlying motivations of the others.
Yet technique, having ruptured the relations between man and
man, proceeds to rebuild the bridge which links them. It bridges
the specializations because it produces a new type of man always
and everywhere like his duplicate, who develops along technical
lines. He listens to himself and speaks to himself, but he obeys
the slightest indications of the apparatus, confident that his neigh-
bor will do the same. Technique has become the bond between
men. By its agency they communicate, whatever their languages,
beliefs, or race. It has become, for life or death, the universal lan-
guage which compensates for all the deficiencies and separations it

The Technological Society ( 1 3 3

has itself produced. This is the major reason for the great impetus
of technique toward the universal.

The Autonomy of T echntque * The primary aspect of autonomy is
perfectly expressed by Frederick Winslow Taylor, a leading tech-
nician. He takes, as his point of departure, the view that the in-
dustrial plant is a whole in itself, a '‘closed organism,” an end in
itself. Giedion adds: "What is fabricated in this plant and what is
the goal of its labor — these are questions outside its design.” The
complete separation of the goal from the mechanism, the limita-
tion of the problem to the means, and the refusal to interfere in
any way with efficiency; all this is clearly expressed by Taylor and
lies at the basis of technical autonomy.

Autonomy is the essential condition for the development of tech-
nique, as Ernst Kohn-Bramstedt's study of the police clearly
indicates. The police must be independent if they are to become ef-
ficient. They must form a closed, autonomous organization in or-
der to operate by the most direct and efficient means and not be
shackled by subsidiary considerations. And in this autonomy, they
must be self-confident in respect to the law. It matters little whether
police action is legal, if it is efficient. The rules obeyed by a techni-
cal organization are no longer rules of justice or injustice. They are
"laws” in a purely technical sense. As far as the police are con-
cerned, the highest stage is reached when the legislature legalizes
their independence of the legislature itself and recognizes the pri-
macy of technical laws. This is the opinion of Best, a leading Ger-
man specialist in police matters.

The autonomy of technique must be examined in different per-
spectives on the basis of the different spheres in relation to which
it has this characteristic. First, technique is autonomous with re-
spect to economics and politics. We have already seen that, at the
present, neither economic nor political evolution conditions tech-
nical progress. Its progress is likewise independent of the social
situation. The converse is actually the case, a point I shall develop
at length. Technique elicits and conditions social, political, and eco-
nomic change. It is the prime mover of all the rest, in spite of any
appearance to the contrary and in spite of human pride, which pre-
tends that man's philosophical theories are still determining influ-
ences and man’s political regimes decisive factors in technical
evolution. External necessities no longer determine technique.

THE CHARACTEHOLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

134)

Technique's own internal necessities are determinative. Technique
has become a reality in itself, self-sufficient, with its special laws
and its own determinations.

Let us not deceive ourselves on this point. Suppose that the
state, for example, intervenes in a technical domain. Either it inter-
venes for sentimental, theoretical, or intellectual reasons, and the
effect of its intervention will be negative or nil; or it intervenes for
reasons of political technique, and we have the combined effect of
two techniques. There is no other possiblity. The historical experi-
ence of the last years shows this fully.

To go one step further, technical autonomy is apparent in respect
to morality and spiritual values. Technique tolerates no judgment
from without and accepts no limitation. It is by virtue of technique
rather than science that the great principle has become established:
chacun chez sot. Morality judges moral problems; as far as techni-
cal problems are concerned, it has nothing to say. Only technical
criteria are relevant. Technique, in sitting in judgment on itself, is
clearly freed from this principal obstacle to human action.
(Whether the obstacle is valid is not the question here. For the
moment we merely record that it is an obstacle. ) Thus, technique
theoretically and systematically assures to itself that liberty which
it has been able to win practically. Since it has put itself beyond
good and evil, it need fear no limitation whatever. It was long
claimed that technique was neutral. Today this is no longer a use-
ful distinction. The power and autonomy of technique are so well
secured that it, in its turn, has become the judge of what is moral,
the creator of a new morality. Thus, it plays the role of creator of a
new civilization as well. This morality — internal to technique — is
assured of not having to suffer from technique. In any case, in re-
spect to traditional morality, technique affirms itself as an inde-
pendent power. Man alone is subject, it would seem, to moral judg-
ment. We no longer live in that primitive epoch in which things
were good or bad in themselves. Technique in itself is neither, and
can therefore do what it will. It is truly autonomous.

However, technique cannot assert its autonomy in respect to
physical or biological laws. Instead, it puts them to work; it seeks
to dominate them.

Giedion, in his probing study of mechanization and the manu-
facture of bread, shows that “wherever mechanization encounters

The Technological Society ( 135

a living substance, bacterial or animal, the organic substance deter-
mines the laws.” For this reason, the mechanization of bakeries was
a failure. More subdivisions, intervals, and precautions of various
kinds were required in the mechanized bakery than in the non-
mechanized bakery. The size of the machines did not save time;
it merely gave work to larger numbers of people. Giedion shows
how the attempt was made to change the nature of the bread in
order to adapt it to mechanical manipulations. In the last resort,
the ultimate success of mechanization turned on the transformation
of human taste. Whenever technique collides with a natural obsta-
cle, it tends to get around it either by replacing the living organism
by a machine, or by modifying the organism so that it no longer
presents any specifically organic reaction.

The same phenomenon is evident in yet another area in which
technical autonomy asserts itself: the relations between techniques
and man. We have already seen, in connection with technical self-
augmentation, that technique pursues its own course more and
more independently of man* This means that man participates less
and less actively in technical creation, which, by the automatic
combination of prior elements, becomes a kind of fate Man is re-
duced to the level of a catalyst. Better still, he resembles a slug in-
serted into a slot machine: he starts the operation without partici-
pating in it

But this autonomy with respect to man goes much further. To the
degree that technique must attain its result with mathematical pre-
cision, it has for its object the elimination of all human variability
and elasticity. It is a commonplace to say that the machine replaces
the human being. But it replaces him to a greater degree than has
been believed.

Industrial technique will soon succeed in completely replacing
the effort of the worker, and it would do so even sooner if capital-
ism were not an obstacle. The worker, no longer needed to guide or
move the machine to action, will be required merely to watch it
and to repair it when it breaks down. He will not participate in the
work any more than a boxer s manager participates in a prize fight.
This is no dream. The automated factory has already been realized
for a great number of operations, and it is realizable for a far greater
number. Examples multiply from day to day in all areas. Man indi-
cates how this automation and its attendant exclusion of men op-

I 3 6 ) THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

erates in business offices; for example, in the case of the so-called
tabulating machine. The machine itself interprets the data, the ele-
mentary bits of information fed into it. It arranges them in texts
and distinct numbers. It adds them together and classifies the re-
sults in groups and subgroups, and so on. We have here an ad-
ministrative circuit accomplished by a single, self-controlled ma-
chine. It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the astounding growth of
automation in the last ten years. The multiple applications of the
automatic assembly line, of automatic control of production opera-
tions ( so-called cybernetics ) are well known. Another case in point
is the automatic pilot. Until recently the automatic pilot was used
only in rectilinear flight; the finer operations were carried out by
the living pilot. As early as 1952 the automatic pilot effected the
operations of take-off and landing for certain supersonic aircraft
The same kind of feat is performed by automatic direction finders
in anti-aircraft defense, Man's role is limited to inspection. This
automation results from the development servomechanisms which
act as substitutes for human beings in more and more subtle opera-
tions by virtue of their '‘feedback” capacity.

This progressive elimination of man from the circuit must inexo-
rably continue. Is the elimination of man so unavoidably necessary?
Certainly! Freeing man from toil is in itself an ideal. Beyond
this, every intervention of man, however educated or used to ma-
chinery he may be, is a source of error and unpredictability. The
combination of man and technique is a happy one only if man has
no responsibility. Otherwise, he is ceaselessly tempted to make un-
predictable choices and is susceptible to emotional motivations
which invalidate the mathematical precision of the machinery. He
Is also susceptible to fatigue and discouragement. All this disturbs
the forward thrust of technique.

Man must have nothing decisive to perform in the course of
technical operations; after all, he is the source of error. Political
technique is still troubled by certain unpredictable phenomena, in
spite of all the precision of the apparatus and the skill of those in-
volved. ( But this technique is still in its childhood. ) In human re-
actions, howsoever well calculated they may be, a '‘coefficient of
elasticity"’ causes imprecision, and imprecision is intolerable to
technique. As far as possible, this source of error must be elimi-
nated. Eliminate the individual, and excellent results ensue. Any

The Technological Society ( 1 3 7

technical man who is aware of this fact is forced to support the
opinions voiced by Robert Jungk, which can be summed up thus:
‘The individual is a brake on progress.” Or: “Considered from the
modern technical point of view, man is a useless appendage.” For
instance, ten per cent of all telephone calls are wrong numbers, due
to human error. An excellent use by man of so perfect an apparatusl

Now that statistical operations are carried out by perforated-
card machines instead of human beings, they have become exact
Machines no longer perform merely gross operations. They perform
a whole complex of subtle ones as well. And before long — what
with the electronic brain — they will attain an intellectual power of
which man is incapable.

Thus, the “great changing of the guard” is occurring much
more extensively than Jacques Duboin envisaged some decades
ago. Gaston Bouthoul, a leading sociologist of the phenomena of
war, concludes that war breaks out in a social group when there
is a “plethora of young men surpassing the indispensable tasks of
the economy.” When for one reason or another these men are not
employed, they become ready for war. It is the multiplication of
men who are excluded from working which provokes war. We
ought at least to bear this in mind when we boast of the continual
decrease in human participation in technical operations.

However, there are spheres in which it is impossible to eliminate
human influence. The autonomy of technique then develops in an-
other direction. Technique is not, for example, autonomous in re-
spect to clock time. Machines, like abstract technical laws, are
subject to the law of speed, and co-ordination presupposes time
adjustment. In his description of the assembly line, Giedion writes:
“Extremely precise time tables guide the automatic cooperation of
the instruments, which, like the atoms in a planetary system, consist
of separate units but gravitate with respect to each other in obedi-
ence to their inherent laws.” This image shows in a remarkable way
how technique became simultaneously independent of man and
obedient to the chronometer. Technique obeys its own specific
laws, as every machine obeys laws. Each element of the technical
complex follows certain laws determined by its relations with the
other elements, and these laws are internal to the system and in no
way influenced by external factors. It is not a question of causing
the human being to disappear, but of making him capitulate, of in-

THE CHARACTEROLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

138 )

during him to accommodate himself to techniques and not to ex-
perience personal feelings and reactions.

No technique is possible when men are free. When technique
enters into the realm of social life, it collides ceaselessly with the
human being to the degree that the combination of man and tech-
nique is unavoidable, and that technical action necessarily results
in a determined result. Technique requires predictability and,
no less, exactness of prediction. It is necessary, then, that technique
prevail over the human being. For technique, this is a matter of life
or death. Technique must reduce man to a technical animal, the
king of the slaves of technique. Human caprice crumbles before
this necessity; there can be no human autonomy in the face of tech-
nical autonomy. The individual must be fashioned by techniques,
either negatively (by the techniques of understanding man) or
positively (by the adaptation of man to the technical framework),
in order to wipe out the blots his personal determination introduces
into the perfect design of the organization.

But it is requisite that man have certain precise inner charac-
teristics. An extreme example is the atomic worker or the jet pilot.
He must be of calm temperament, and even temper, he must be
phlegmatic, he must not have too much initiative, and he must be
devoid of egotism. The ideal jet pilot is already along in years
(perhaps thirty -five) and has a settled direction in life. He flies
his jet in the way a good civil servant goes to his office. Human
joys and sorrows are fetters on technical aptitude. Jungk cites the
case of a test pilot who had to abandon his profession because
‘‘his wife behaved in such a way as to lessen his capacity to fly.
Every day, when he returned home, he found her shedding tears of
joy. Having become in this way accident conscious, he dreaded
catastrophe when he had to face a deiicate situation/' The individ-
ual who is a servant of technique must be completely unconscious
of himself. Without this quality, his reflexes and his inclinations are
not properly adapted to technique.

Moreover, the physiological condition of the individual must an-
swer to technical demands. Jungk gives an impressive picture of
the experiments in training and control that jet pilots have to
undergo. The pilot is whilred on centrifuges until he “blacks out”
( in order to measure his toleration of acceleration ) . There are cata-
pults, ultrasonic chambers, etc., in which the candidate is forced

The Techndogical Society ( 1 3 9

to undergo unheard-of tortures in order to determine whether he
has adequate resistance and whether he is capable of piloting the
new machines. That the human organism is, technically speaking,
an imperfect one is demonstrated by the experiments. The suffer-
ings the individual endures in these “laboratories” are considered
to be due to “biological weaknesses,’' which must be eliminated.
New experiments have pushed even further to determine the re-
actions of “space pilots” and to prepare these heroes for their roles
of tomorrow. This has given birth to new sciences, biometry for
example; their one aim is to create the new man, the man adapted
to technical functions.

It will be objected that these examples are extreme. This is cer-
tainly the case, but to a greater or lesser degree the same prob-
lem exists everywhere. And the more technique evolves, the more
extreme its character becomes. The object of all the modern “hu-
man sciences” (which I will examine later on) is to find answers
to these problems.

The enormous effort required to put this technical civilization
into motion supposes that all individual effort is directed toward
this goal alone and that all social forces are mobilized to attain the
mathematically perfect structure of the edifice. (“Mathematically”
does not mean “rigidly ” The perfect technique is the most adapta-
ble and, consequently, the most plastic one. True technique will
know how to maintain the illusion of liberty, choice, and individ-
uality; but these will have been carefully calculated so that they
will be integrated into the mathematical reality merely as appear-
ances!) Henceforth it will be wrong for a man to escape this
universal effort. It will be inadmissible for any part of the individ-
ual not to be integrated in the drive toward technicization; it will be
inadmissible that any man even aspire to escape this necessity of
the whole society. The individual will no longer be able, materially
or spiritually, to disengage himself from society. Materially, he will
not be able to release himself because the technical means are so
numerous that they invade his whole life and make it impossible
for him to escape the collective phenomena. There is no longer an
uninhabited place, or any other geographical locale, for the
would-be solitary. It is no longer possible to refuse entrance into
a community to a highway, a high-tension line, or a dam. It is vain
to aspire to live alone when one is obliged to participate in all col-

1 4 0 ) the characteroloct of technique

lective phenomena and to use all the collective's tools, without
which it is impossible to earn a bare subsistence, Nothing is gratis
any longer in our society; and to live on charity is less and less
possible. “Social advantages’* are for the workers alone, not for “use-
less mouths” The solitary is a useless mouth and will have no ration
card — up to the day he is transported to a penal colony. (An at-
tempt was made to institute this procedure during the French Rev-
olution, with deportations to Cayenne. )

Spiritually, it will be impossible for the individual to disassociate
himself from society. This is due not to the existence of spiritual
techniques which have increasing force in our society, but rather to
our situation. We are constrained to be “engaged,” as the existen-
tialists say, with technique. Positively or negatively, our spiritual
attitude is constantly urged, if not determined, by this situation.
Only bestiality, because it is unconscious, would seem to escape
this situation, and it is itself only a product of the machine.

Every conscious being today is walking the narrow ridge of a
decision with regard to technique. He who maintains that he can
escape it is either a hypocrite or unconscious. The autonomy of
technique forbids the man of today to choose his destiny. Doubt-
less, someone will ask if it has not always been the case that social
conditions, environment, manorial oppression, and the family con-
ditioned man’s fate. The answer is, of course, yes. But there is no
common denominator between the suppression of ration cards in
an authoritarian state and the family pressure of two centuries ago.
In the past, when an individual entered into conflict with society,
he led a harsh and miserable life that required a vigor which ei-
ther hardened or broke him. Today the concentration camp and
death await him; technique cannot tolerate aberrant activities.

Because of the autonomy of technique, modern man cannot
choose his means any more than his ends. In spite of variability and
flexibility according to place and circumstance (which are charac-
teristic of technique) there is still only a single employable tech-
nique in the given place and time in which an individual is situ-
ated. We have already examined the reasons for this.

At this point, we must consider the major consequences of the
autonomy of technique. This will bring us to the climax of this
analysis.

Technical autonomy explains the “specific weight" with which

The Technological Society (141

technique is endowed. It is not a kind of neutral matter, with no
direction, quality, or structure. It is a power endowed with its own
peculiar force. It refracts in its own specific sense the wills which
make use of it and the ends porposed for it. Indeed, independently
of the objectives that man pretends to assign to any given technical
means, that means always conceals in itself a finality which cannot
be evaded. And if there is a competition between this intrinsic final-
ity and an extrinsic end proposed by man, it is always the intrinsic
finality which carries the day. If the technique in question is not
exactly adapted to a proposed human end, and if an individual pre-
tends that he is adapting the technique to this end, it is generally
quickly evident that it is the end which is being modified, not the
technique. Of course, this statement must be qualified by what has
already been said concerning the endless refinement of techniques
and their adaptation. But this adaptation is effected with reference
to the techniques concerned and to the conditions of their applica-
bility. It does not depend on external ends. Perrot has demon-
strated this in the case of judicial techniques, and Giedion in the
case of mechanical techniques. Concerning the over-all problem of
the relation between the ends and the means, I take the liberty
of referring to my own work, Presence au monde modeme.

Once again we are faced with a choice of “all or nothing." If
we make use of technique, we must accept the specificity and
autonomy of its ends, and the totality of its rules. Our own desires
and aspirations can change nothing.

The second consequence of technical autonomy is that it renders
technique at once sacrilegious and sacred. ( Sacrilegious is not used
here in the theological but in the sociological sense. ) Sociologists
have recognized that the world in which man lives is lor him not
only a material but also a spiritual world; that forces act in it which
are unknown and perhaps unknowable; that there are phenomena
in it which man interprets as magical; that there are relations and
correspondences between things and beings in which material con-
nections are of little consequence. This whole area is mysterious.
Mystery ( but not in the Catholic sense ) is an element of man s life.
Jung has shown that it is catastrophic to make superficially clear
what is hidden in man's innermost depths. Man must make allow-
ance for a background, a great deep above which lie his reason and
his clear consciousness. The mystery of man perhaps creates the

THE CHARACTER OLOGY OF TECHNIQUE

14a)

mystery of the world he inhabits. Or perhaps this mystery is a real-
ity in itself. There is no way to decide between these two alterna-
tives. But, one way or the other, mystery is a necessity of human
life.

Man cannot live without a sense of the secret The psychoana-
lysts agree on this point But the invasion of technique desacralizes
the world in which man is called upon to live. For technique noth-
ing is sacred, there is no mystery, no taboo. Autonomy makes this so.
Technique does not accept the existence of rules outside itself, or
of any norm. Still less will it accept any judgment upon it. As a
consequence, no matter where it penetrates, what it does is per-
mitted, lawful, justified.

To a great extent, mystery is desired by man. It is not that he
cannot understand, or enter into, or grasp mystery, but that he does
not desire to do so. The sacred is what man decides unconsciously
to respect. The taboo becomes compelling from a social standpoint,
but there is always a factor of adoration and respect which does not
derive from compulsion and fear.

Technique worships nothing, respects nothing. It has a single
role; to strip off externals, to bring everything to light, and by ra-
tional use to transform everything into means. More than science,
which limits itself to explaining the “how," technique desacralizes
because it demonstrates (by evidence and not by reason, through
use and not through books) that mystery does not exist. Science
brings to the light of day everything man had believed sacred.
Technique takes possession of it and enslaves it. The sacred cannot
resist. Science penetrates to the great depths of the sea to photo-
graph the unknown fish of the deep. Technique captures them,
hauls them up to see if they are edible — but before they arrive on
deck they burst. And why should technique not act thus? It is au-
tonomous and recognizes as barriers only the temporary limits of its
action. In its eyes, this terrain, which is for the moment unknown
but not mysterious, must be attacked. Far from being restrained by
any scruples before the sacred, technique constantly assails it.
Everything which is not yet technique becomes so. It is driven on-
ward by itself, by its character of self-augmentation. Technique
denies mystery a priori. The mysterious is merely that which has
not yet been technicized.

Technique advocates the entire remaking of life and its frame-

The Technological Society (143

work because they have been badly made. Since heredity is full of
chance, technique proposes to suppress it so as to engender the kind
of men necessary for its ideal of service. The creation of the ideal
man will soon be a simple technical operation. It is no longer neces-
sary to rely on the chances of the family or on the personal vigor
which is called virtue. Applied biogenetics is an obvious point at
which technique desacralizes; s but we must not forget psycho-
analysis, which holds that dreams, visions, and the psychic life in
general are nothing more than objects. Nor must we forget the pene-
tration and exploitation of the earth's secrets. Crash programs, par-
ticularly in the United States, are attempting to reconstruct the soil
which massive exploitation and the use of chemical fertilizers have
impaired. We shall soon discover the functions of chlorophyll and
thus entirely transform the conditions of life Recent investigations
in electronic techniques applied to biology have emphasized the
importance of DNA and will possibly result in the discovery of the
linkbetween the living and the nonliving.

Nothing belongs any longer to the realm of the gods or the super-
natural. The individual who lives in the technical milieu knows very
well that there is nothing spiritual anywhere. But man cannot live
without the sacred. He therefore transfers his sense of the sacred
to the very thing which has destroyed its former object: to tech-
nique itself. In the world in which we live, technique has become
the essential mystery, taking widely diverse forms according to
place and race. Those who have preserved some of the notions of
magic both admire and fear technique. Radio presents an inex-
plicable mystery, an obvious and recurrent miracle. It is no less
astonishing than the highest manifestations of magic once were,
and it is worshipped as an idol would have been worshipped, with
the same simplicity and fear.

But custom and the recurrence of the miracle eventually wear
out this primitive adoration. It is scarcely found today in European
countries; the proletariat, workers and peasants alike, with their
motorcycles, radios, and electrical appliances, have an attitude of
condescending pride toward the jinn who is their slave. Their ideal
is incarnated in certain things which serve them. Yet they retain
some feeling of the sacred, in the sense that life is not worth the

* See, in this connection, the previous note

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

* 44 )

trouble of living unless a man has these jinns in his home. This
attitude goes much further in the case of the conscious segment of
the proletariat, among whom technique is seen as a whole and not
merely in its occasional aspects. For them, technique is the instru-
ment of liberation for the proletariat. All that is needed is for tech-
nique to make a little more headway, and they will be freed pro-
portionately from their chains. Stalin pointed to industrialization
as the sole condition for the realization of Communism. Every
gain made by technique is a gain for the proletariat. This represents
indeed a belief in the sacred. Technique is the god which brings
salvation. It is good in its essence. Capitalism is an abomination
because on occasion it opposes technique. Technique is the hope
of the proletarians; they can have faith in it because its miracles are
visible and progressive. A great part of their sense of the mysterious
remains attached to it. Karl Marx may have been able to explain
rationally how technique would free the proletariat, but the prole-
tariat itself is scarcely equal to a full understanding of this “how.**
It remains mysterious for them. They retain merely the formula
of faith. But their faith addresses itself with enthusiasm to the
mysterious agent of their liberation.

The nonintellectual classes of the bourgeoisie are perhaps less
caught up in this worship of technique. But the technicians of the
bourgeoisie are without doubt the ones most powerfully taken with
it. For them, technique is sacred, since they have no reason to
feel a passion for it. Technical men are always disconcerted when
one asks them the motives for their faith. No, they do not expect to
be liberated; they expect nothing, yet they sacrifice themselves
and devote their lives with frenzy to the development of industrial
plants and the organization of banks. The happiness of the human
race and suchlike nonsense are the commonplaces they allege. But
these are no longer of any service even as justifications, and they
certainly have nothing at all to do with man's passion for technique.

The technician uses technique perhaps because it is his profes-
sion, but he does so with adoration because for him technique is
the locus of the sacred. There is neither reason nor explanation in
his attitude. The power of technique, mysterious though scientific,
which covers the whole earth with its networks of waves, wires,
and paper, is to the technician an abstract idol which gives him a

The Technological Society ( i 4 5

reason for living and even for joy. One sign, among many, of the
feeling of the sacred that man experiences in the face of technique
is the care he takes to treat it with familiarity. Laughter and humor
are common human reactions in the presence of the sacred. This is
true for primitive peoples; and for the same reason the first atomic
bomb was called “Gilda,” the giant cyclotron of Los Alamos
'‘Clementine,” the atomic piles “water pots,” and radioactive con-
tamination “scalding.” The technicians of Los Alamos have banned
the word atom from their vocabulary. These things are significant.

In view of the very different forms of technique, there is no
question of a technical religion. But there is associated with it the
feeling of the sacred, which expresses itself in different ways. The
way differs from man to man, but for all men the feeling of the
sacred is expressed in this marvelous instrument of the power in-
stinct which is always joined to mystery and magic. The worker
brags about his job because it offers him joyous confirmation of his
superiority. The young snob speeds along at 100 m.p.h. in his
Porsche. The technician contemplates with satisfaction the gradi-
ents of his charts, no matter what their reference is. For these men,
technique is in every way sacred: it is the common expression of
human power without which they would find themselves poor,
alone, naked, and stripped of all pretentions. They would no longer
be the heroes, geniuses, or archangels which a motor permits them
to be at little expense.

What shall we say of the outburst of frenzy when the Sputnik
went into orbit? What of the poems of the Soviets, the metaphysical
affirmations of the French, the speculations on the conquest of the
universe? What of the identification of this artificial satellite with
the sun, or of its invention with the creation of the earth? And, on
the other side of the Atlantic, what was the real meaning of the ex-
cessive consternation of the Americans? All these bore witness to a
marked social attitude with regard to a simple technical fact.

Even people put out of work or ruined by technique, even those
who criticize or attack it (without daring to go so far as to turn
worshippers against them) have the bad conscience of all icono-
clasts. They find neither within nor without themselves a compen-
sating force for the one they call into question. They do not even
live in despair, which would be a sign of their freedom. This bad

THE CHARACTEROLOCY OF TECHNIQUE

146 )

conscience appears to me to be perhaps the most revealing fact
about the new sacralization of modern technique.

The characteristics we have examined permit me to assert with
confidence that there is no common denominator between the tech-
nique of today and that of yesterday. Today we are dealing with an
utterly different phenomenon. Those who claim to deduce from
man’s technical situation in past centuries his situation in this one
show that they have grasped nothing of the technical phenomenon.
These deductions prove that all their reasonings are without
foundation and all their analogies are astigmatic.

The celebrated formula of Alain has been invalidated: “Tools,
instruments of necessity, instruments that neither lie nor cheat, tools
with which necessity can be subjugated by obeying her, without the
help of false laws; tools that make it possible to conquer by obey-
ing/’ This formula is true of the tool which puts man squarely in
contact with a reality that will bear no excuses, in contact with mat-
ter to be mastered, and the only way to use it is to obey it. Obedi-
ence to the plow and the plane was indeed the only means of domi-
nating earth and wood. But the formula is not true for our
techniques. He who serves these techniques enters another realm
of necessity. This new necessity is not natural necessity; natural
necessity, in fact, no longer exists. It is technique’s necessity, which
becomes the more constraining the more nature’s necessity fades
and disappears. It cannot be escaped or mastered. The tool was
not false. But technique causes us to penetrate into the innermost
realm of falsehood, showing us all the while the noble face of ob-
jectivity of result. In this innermost recess, man is no longer able to
recognize himself because of the instruments he employs.

The tool enables man to conquer. But, man, dost thou not know
there is no more victory which is thy victory? The victory of our
days belongs to the tool. The tool alone has the power and carries
off the victory. Man bestows on himself the laurel crown, after the
example of Napoleon III, who stayed in Paris to plan the strategy
of the Crimean War and claimed the bay leaves of the victor.

But this delusion cannot last much longer. The individual obeys
and no longer has victory which is his own. He cannot have ac-
cess even to his apparent triumphs except by becoming himself the
object of technique and the offspring of the mating of man and

The Technological Society (*47

machine. AR his accounts are falsified. Alain’s definition no longer
corresponds to anything in the modem world. In writing this, I
have, of course, omitted innumerable facets of our world. There are
still artisans, petty tradesmen, butchers, domestics, and small agri-
cultural landowners. But theirs are the faces of yesterday, the more
or less hardy survivals of our past. Our world is not made of these
static residues of history, and I have attempted to consider only
moving forces. In the complexity of the present world, residues do
exist, but they have no future and are consequently disappearing.

Only the things which have a future interest us. But how are we
to discern them? By making a comparison of three planes of civili-
zation which coexist today: India, Western Europe, and the United
States. And by considering the line of historical progression from
one to the other — all of this powerfully reinforced by the evolution
of the Soviet Union, which is causing history to boil.

In this chapter we have sketched the psychology of the tyrant.
Now we must study his biology: the circulatory apparatus, the
state; the digestive apparatus, the economy; the cellular tissue, man.

CHAPTER

00

TECHNIQUE
AND ECONOMY

There is a certain naKvet6 in wishing to treat the problem of eco-
nomic technique in a few pages, and it seems completely useless
to take up once again a question so frequently studied But, as in
the book as a whole, I do not mean to address myself exclusively to
those aspects of the problem which are traditionally considered,
that is, to the facts. The facts, figures, statistics (well or little
known) form the background and foundation of my inquiry. It
seems unnecessary to reiterate them. They can be found in many
books, so I shall continue with the “cursive" method I have hitherto
employed. By encircling the facts, I shall emphasize their impor-
tance; and on the basis of the data given, I shall seek to derive
new aspects and “lines of force" for new studies. It might be asked
whether, this has not already been done and is hence unnecesary.
But this inquiry presupposes that we have escaped not only from
sole preoccupation with brute facts but from formal logic as well
Neither gives an account of reality. The point is to let oneself be
guided by a kind of logic internal to facts and things. It is useless
to speak of “laws." I am opposed to the attitude, represented for ex-

The Technological Society ( 1 4 9

ample by the works of Fourasti6, which combines elements on the
basis of pure logic, yielding a terribly linear and inhuman result.
I am likewise opposed to the attitude, characteristic of the majority
of Western intellectuals, which, having taken account of the facts,
denies them forthwith by avowals of hope and assertions of the cer-
tainty of human freedom — which is anything but scientific. This
attitude can be reduced to the conviction that the reality of things
is simply too frightful to behold. Instead of guiding themselves by
reality, most investigators of the problem adopt an attitude flatly
contradicted by all the events of modern times. This attitude might
be summarized as follows: "The facts are the elements of a game
of patience which is amorphous and has no form of its own. The
individual is perfectly at liberty among these facts to arrange the
pieces of the game as he will and to elaborate a voluntary and hu-
mane economy.”

I take an extreme view but one that I believe is closer to reality.
I see that the facts have their form and their specific weight. They
respect neither freedom of the individual nor formal logic. I am
striving in this essay to find their special consistency and their com-
mon tendencies, and to discover whether man still has a place in
this tangle; whether he still has any authority among these colossal
masses in movement; whether he still can exert any force whatever
on the statistics which are slipping from his hands into the abstract
and the unreal. Can he have a place, authority, and the pos-
sibility of action on a better basis than ill-founded declarations of
hope or blind acts of unreasonable faith?

The Beet and the Worst

The Influence of Technique on the Economy . Let us consider first
the aspect of the relation between technique and economy which
is traditionally studied, particularly by Marx. Technique, or rather
techniques, appears as the motive force and the foundation of the
economy. Without them, there is no economy. For this reason, a
distinction can be made in economics between dynamic force,
which is technical invention, and static force, the organization of
the economy. Marx distinguishes between the system of production
and the system of distribution: the former revolutionary, the latter

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

150 )

necessarily conservative. It is self-deception to put economics at the
base of the Marxist system. It is technique upon which all the rest
depends. But the distinction made by Marx must be revised, for
it is no longer true that technique plays its role in the realm of pro-
duction alone. Distribution, too, is to a great degree modified by
techniques. Indeed, no area of economic life is today independent
of technical development. It is to Fourastie's credit that he pointed
out that technical development controls all contemporary economic
evolution, from production operations to demography. (There is no
doubt that world population growth is related to the increase in
consumption.) Even more abstract spheres are shown by Four-
astie to be dominated by technical progress; for example, the price
mechanism, capital evolution, foreign trade, population displace-
ment, unemployment, and so on.

This invasion of all economic activity by technique seems today
indisputable. Of course the problem had been raised by economists
before Fourasti6, if not in full, at least to a certain degree. In an ef-
fort to explain crises, Gottfried Haberler, in Prosperity and De-
pression, ascribed their existence to inequality of technical develop-
ment in different branches of economic activity. The success of a
technique leads to its full development; technique will tend to reach
the limits of its possible development in a given area. The result is,
first, an inequality of power in the various areas of the economy,
which provokes an unblancing of the whole system; and second,
a diminution of plasticity of the economic milieu. Technical prog-
ress entails stasis in one part or other of the system; the economy
is strained to the full and loses all possibility of adaptation, bar-
ring, of course, a complete breakdown. The crisis then results from
the fact that the system cannot progress, economically, at the same
tempo in ail its parts.

Henri Guitton returns to this idea when he notes that the adap-
tive mechanisms which were active during the nineteenth century
have become more and more hampered. This disturbance seems to
be attributable to the loss of structural elasticity. A structure suita-
ble to simplified mechanisms, lighter, so to speak ( the old world had
not accumulated as many innovations as the new), is no longer
adapted to the exigencies of growth of a world no longer young.

In an altogether different field, John Maynard Keynes has also
shown in his work, General Theory , that technical progress is an

The Technological Society ( 1 5 1

indispensable factor in the economy. The economic world cannot
remain stationary. It is unceasingly called on to evolve. In particu-
lar, the importance of technical progress is central to the theory of
investment. All the possibilities of labor must be utilized at any
price. It is necessary constantly to uncover new possibilities of in-
vestment. For, says Keynes, the more numerous the consumers’
goods — the production of which has been provided for in advance
— the more difficult it is to find corresponding new needs — which
must likewise be anticipated and which call for new investments.
What Keynes in fact fears is that there will not be sufficient new
possibilities of investment. There is only one way to ensure limit-
less possibilities. These possibilities have nothing to do with spon-
taneous human needs, but involve technical discovery and applica-
tion, which create new products to replace the old, and also stimu-
late the need for these products. Technical progress is therefore a
decisive factor in the progression of investment. The epicentric po-
sition of the theory of investment in Keynes’s system is well known.
If a Byzantine phase of technical arrest were to occur in the eco-
nomic realm, it would represent not only an arrest of economic
evolution but a regression as well, with a resultant series of deep
crises.

In a closely related sense, a great importance is attached to tech-
nique both by those who hold and by those who reject the theory
of economic maturity. According to this theory, only ceaseless tech-
nical progress can compensate for the causes of depression which
become manifest in an economy that has arrived at maturity.
These causes of depression are decline in the rate of population
growth and limitation of geographic expansion — two factors which
entail a decrease in the rate of investment. Technical progress could
remedy this but, according to the initiator of the theory, technique
shares in the decrease, not absolutely, but relatively. Technical
progress no longer occurs rapidly enough to compensate for the
other factors. Not even the opponents of this theory repudiate the
importance of the technical factor, and that is what interests us
here.

Yet another element of economic life ought not to be neglected:
agricultural production. In this case, too, the upheaval brought
about by techniques is a radical one. We have already noted the
danger to the earth itself. As to the benefits and the penetration of

I 5* ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

technique into farm labor, it suffices to refer the interested reader to
Giedion s work. But I must insist on one point: as a result of the
influence of techniques, the modem world is faced with a kind of
“unblocking of peasant life and mentality." For a long time peasant
tradition resisted innovation, and the old agricultural systems pre-
served their stability. Today technical transformation is an estab-
lished fact; the peasant revolution is in process or already com-
pleted, and everywhere in the same direction. The actual extent of
the progress of this revolution is of small importance; what counts
is the first step, which permits the barriers of tradition to be hur-
dled. The peasant becomes conscious of the inferiority of his tradi-
tions; the usual justifications are held in contempt and the peasant
world passes from the irrational to the rational. Once again we en-
counter the notion that technique destroys traditional forms of civi-
lization and introduces instead a global unity. What does this un-
blocking mean for the future? In the years to come we shall witness
an acceleration of technical progress in rural life, and an accelera-
tion of already perceptible phenomena: peasant emigration, agri-
cultural specialization, deforestation, and the growth of agricultu-
ral production in general. These events are of major importance in
view of the fact that agricultural production still remains the basis
of economic life; and that the countries of the world most depend-
ent on industry, Great Britain and Japan, have not reached as high
a standard of living as the United States because of the lack of suf-
ficient cultivable lands. The economic repercussions of this type of
technical progress are easily grasped.

These examples, chosen arbitrarily from different social areas,
show that the influence of technique on economic life is much more
widespread and profound than classical manuals of economics
would have us believe.

Moreover, all this is implied in the elementary observation that
the progress of production closely depends on technical progress.
It is at the present a truism to say that a new, general economic
organization corresponds to certain new forms of production.

This dependence of the economy on techniques and primarily
on machines has come about in an irrational way. It is not the ac-
tion of clear and certain causes which have produced this interde-
pendence. Veblen asks whether machines do not squander more

The Technological Society ( x 5 3

effort and material than they save; whether they do not cause grave
economic losses by the developments they bring about in means of
transport, etc. The same questions are put by Bertrand Russell and
still more emphatically by Gaston Bardet, who points to the enor-
mous waste of human forces, of time, work, and capital, occa-
sioned by the social structures conditioned by the machine. These
are indeed simple questions, but important ones.

We see, then, that the influence of technique on the economy
does not arise from an indisputable economic superiority of the ma-
chine. Ideas and theories no longer dominate, but rather the power
of production. The industrial revolution of the nineteenth century
resulted immediately from the technical advances of that time; this
relation has not changed. Marx was unquestionably right with re-
spect to the period from about 1830 to the present; the motive force
of all economic evolution has indeed been technical development.
However, Marx was not necessarily right with respect to other pe-
riods of history. Technical progress has not always been the basic
principle. We have already shown the contrary. Moreover, this does
not mean that the consequences Marx draws from his contention
are true. All we need do is note that Marx s observation is correct;
the more we advance into the new world, the more is economic life
dependent on technical development

Economic Consequences, As Jean Marchal says, “the accumula-
tion of machines transforms the economy/’ We know that technique
is not equivalent to the machine, and Marchal’s statement is even
truer when technique is considered in my more general sense.
Furthermore, his formula, which historically is more or less exact,
tends to appear all the more exact in view of the economic dis-
turbances caused, for example, by automation. A simplistic view of
the automated economy proclaims ease and abundance for all
men, thanks to technique. But, unfortunately, this is not so sim-
ple. We are, in fact, confronted with a phenomenon which will
produce a veritable economic mutation. None of the economic
modalities (salaries, distribution, reduction of the work week, trans-
fer of the labor force from one area to another, disturbance of the
balance of production in the various areas) seems capable of reso-
lution in the present state of affairs. Even the socialist economic
structure is not adapted to receive the massive effects of automa-

154 ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

tion. This has been avowed by the Soviet economists themselves in
their research into the effects of automation in the light of Marxism.

Returning to Marchal’s formula, we might ask in what direction
this transformation acts. If we consider certain traits of technical
progress of concern to the economy, we note that they all move in
the same direction. Let us recall that technical means are becom-
ing more and more enormous and costly. Consider, for example,
(a) the ever more numerous machines that are necessary to pro-
duction, which act more rapidly, are always being improved upon,
and are subject to frequent replacement because of constant inven-
tive progress; ( b ) the organization of labor, which implies more
and more numerous and costly personnel, which, although indis-
pensable, is not always immediately forthcoming; (c) publicity
techniques. In all these economic means the same fact is to be
noted, the investment of enormous amounts of nonproductive capi-
tal. Capital in such amounts can no longer be owned by a single per-
son and economic activity is beyond the range of individual possi-
bilities. But technical progress cannot do without the concentration
of capital. An economy based on individual enterprise is not con-
ceivable, barring an extraordinary technical regression. The neces-
sary concentration of capital thus gives rise either to an economy of
corporations or to a state economy.

A concentration of enterprise corresponds to this concentration
of capital. This fact can hardly be denied today, especially in view
of the power of these enterprises. Two examples from the United
States: In 1939, 52 per cent of all industrial capital was held by
0.1 per cent of the total number of enterprises; and in 1944, 62 per
cent of all workers were employed in 2 per cent of American enter-
prises. A similar concentration of banking facilities exists. Of 30.000
banks in the United States in 1920, only 15,000 were left in 1956.
There were 350 mergers in 1955 alone. The situation became so evi-
dent that in 1956 the Federal Reserve Board undertook a campaign
against this concentration.

This tendency toward concentration is confirmed daily, as Joseph
Lajugie shows. The important thing is to recognize the real motive
force behind it. The human and social effects of this concentration
are, on the whole, evil. In a great corporation, the workers are
more than ever enslaved and scarcely in a position to act in a dis-
tinctively human way. Even the consumer is frequently imposed

The Technological Society ( 2 55

upon. The integration of the individual into the technical complex
is more complete than ever before.

From the purely economic point of view, the value of the results
is highly debatable. It would seem, from the point of view of the
market economy, that concentration should be a markedly favora-
ble factor. It involves, for example, suppression of competition and
a tendency to raise prices. But, more striking still, concentration does
not result in growth of profits. In many branches of production,
profit growth is arrested or even declines when the transition is
made from the medium-size enterprise to the large corporation.

What, then, is the motive force behind this concentration? Tech-
nique alone. A number of elements in technique demand concen-
tration. Mechanical technique requires it because only a very large
corporation is in a position at the present to take advantage of the
most recent inventions. Only the large corporation is able to apply
normalization, to recover waste products profitably, and to manu-
facture byproducts. Technique applied to problems of labor effi-
ciency requires concentration because only through concentration
is it possible to apply up-to-date methods which have gone far be-
yond the techniques of the former efficiency and time-study experts
(for instance, the application of techniques of industrial relations).
Finally, economic technique demands both vertical and horizontal
concentration, which permits stockpiling at more favorable prices,
accelerated capital turnover, reduction of fixed charges, assurance
of markets, and so on.

Technical progress thus entails concentration. But this concen-
tration represents real advantages only in the technical domain. The
impulse to concentrate is so strong that it takes place even contrary
to the decisions of the state. In the United States and in France,
the state has often opposed concentration, but ultimately it has
always been forced to capitulate and to stand by impotently while
the un desired development occurs. This confirms my judgment con-
cerning the decisive action of technique on the modem economy.

What is more, the technique of organization renders the inter-
vention of the state indispensable.

The necessity of normalizing products is no longer debated today.
It is one of the conditions of economic progress. This normalization
is based on technical research. But here, as everywhere else in a
capitalist or semiliberal economy, the technical result is in conflict

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

156)

with certain interests. In order to apply it, the good will of the pub-
lic cannot be counted on. It then becomes indispensable to sanction
normalization in some other way. And only the state can apply this
sanction. The result is the creation of arbitration commissions armed
with public powers to deal with normalization.

Technical necessity calls for state intervention in order to organ-
ize the electric power network. Later on I shall discuss the inter-
relation of the network and the purely technical motives which
prompt it. It is not the regulation of opposed interests, but the ne-
cessity of a higher organization embracing the local organizations,
which, in this case, brings about the appeal to state power. The
technical organism called a combine is of the same order. Whether
it be the TVA or a Soviet Kombinat t it is perfectly illusory to claim
that such combines represent autonomous organisms. In fact, the
technical necessity which brought them into being gains force and
value only through state intervention. Doubtless, when the organ-
ism is constituted, it may receive a certain independence from the
state. But we must not forget who the real parent is. Nor must we
overlook the fact that this parentage represents a profound inter-
vention in the economy on the part of the state, an intervention,
moreover, not dictated by a theory or a will to power, but by the
technical manifest.

The necessity of utilizing certain goods also tends in the same
direction. It has long been recognized that technical progress is
effected more rapidly in the creation of the means of production.
From this fact comes a kind of hypertrophy of machine-producing
industries. The well-known Hoover Committee for the elimination
of waste found, for example, that the production of the American
clothing industry was 45 per cent greater than necessary. The ca
pacity of the shoe industry was double its real production; and the
printing industry was overequipped by 100 per cent. The excess
production of home appliances and automobiles is well known.
None of this overproduction would represent a waste, if one were
judging on the basis of world needs. But, in the present situation,
overproduction produces disequilibrium with respect to revenues,
investment, and consumption possibilities, and so on. There is no
absolute need to halt technical growth in any given area (say, in
heavy industry). But there is a need to find markets for this over-
production. At present, only the state is in a position to sustain the

The Technological Society ( 1 5 7

tempo of technical progress in this direction, a heavy burden in-
deed.

Economics even intervenes in politics-cons ider the expansion
of systematic '‘planning,” which proceeds by waves, so to speak.
Here there is a transition from the microeconomy to the macro-
economy which it would be interesting to study in a detailed way.
I shall simply point out that the application of planning on the
scale of the enterprise leads to a nationwide application of planning
in which all enterprises obey a like rule.

The establishment of production norms or of a plan becomes
rational and technically necessary when the method is already ex-
tended to the national field. I could easily give additional examples;
for instance, in the development of financial and banking tech-
niques. Let us bear in mind that atomic energy, say, when put to
work will suppose state control of all sources of energy. It is incon-
ceivable that an individual could have at his disposal the sources
of atomic power. Not doctrinal but technical reasons today render
economic life inseparable from the state. This does not mean that
the economy necessarily becomes collectivist or totalitarian. For the
moment let us simply note the indissoluble relation.

This relation is admitted by many economists. Is it the resuk
of chance or of choice? Of neither exclusively. Nor is it the result of
a managed economy. As Robert Moss6 writes : "With the develop-
ment of the managed economy, it has become very difficult to trace
a boundary between politics and economics ...” In reality, it is a
necessity resulting from the advance of technique. Technique plays
an important role in economic life; but it has the same effect with
reference to economic science. A relation is being established be-
tween technical progress in economic life and technical progress
in science or method. The two converge and end in identical
results.

Before examining this transformation of method, we must briefly
recall that political economy has changed its object, and almost its
nature, as a consequence of the enormous accumulation of eco-
mic facts. Economic facts have been rendered more numerous and
more enormous — and this is not the least effect of technique in
economic life. The definition of economic science has hence be-
come more and more complex and comprehensive. Without seek-
ing to note all the points of the curve, let two definitions suffice for

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

158)

comparing the distance between the extremes. The first was given
in 1850, the second in 1950. In the first, economic science was de-
fined as the "science of wealth.” Its object was primarily acquiring
wealth and disposing of it. It was therefore an individual and pri-
vate matter. The objective of political economy is conceived in
sqch a way today that it is virtually impossible to encompass it in a
formula. As Marchal shows, we have the problem of satisfying the
needs of humanity, co-ordinating the available means of produc-
tion, modifying existent institutions, and even transforming human
needs. These problems must all be studied not on the plane of the
individual but on the plane of the social group, and an effort made
to disengage the laws of these social groups.

There is no need to go to the extreme and substitute for the or-
ganization of production the organization of distribution alone, as
Robert Mosse appears to be doing when he writes: “From the mo-
ment production becomes sufficient, the essential thing is to dis-
tribute goods and leisure” Without going that far, it is easy, as
Lange has done, to see the difference between a science of the pro-
duction of wealth and a science of administration of scarce goods.
More and more, the economic fact covers all human activity. Every-
thing has become function and object of the economy, and this has
been effected by the intermediacy of technique. To the extent that
technique has demanded complete devotion of man or brought to
light a growing number of measurable facts, or rendered economic
life richer and more complex, or enveloped the human being in a
network of material possibilities that are being gradually realized,
it has transformed the object of the economy. The economy now
becomes obliged to take into account all human problems. The
development of techniques is responsible for the staggering phe-
nomenon of the absorption by economics of all social activities.

The Secret Way

But another relation between technique and economy exists: the
formation of an economic technique. Not only has economic science
changed its object and its nature, but it has produced a technique
which is simultaneously a method of knowledge and a method of

The Technological Society i 1 59

action. Political economy has not renounced its claim to being
normative. It seeks not only to grasp reality but also to modify it.
But the real relation of these two aspects of economic technique
is obvious. The method of scientific knowledge as such reacts on the
economic milieu and tends to shape it; but this technique is not
“neutral.” It does not merely stand ready to do the bidding of any
random doctrine or ideology. It behaves rather with its own
specific weight and direction. It is not a mere instrument, but
possesses its own force, which urges it into determined paths, some-
times contrary to human wishes.

Economists, not understanding this, want to disengage their
technique from its “neutrality” and to bring it into the service of
their ends. They reject the definition: “Economics is the science
[technique!] of efficient choices.” But when they seek to humanize
the economy, they learn quickly enough that such attempts lead
directly to the subjugation of the ends to techniques. Those who
pose the problem of ends and propose a humane economy as their
goal are the very persons who develop techniques further and en-
hance their specific weights, as Jacques Aventur has shown. But
whereas the overpowering phenomenon of the machine strikes
home to everyone and makes plain its influence on economic life,
the ways of economic technique are secret and everyone remains
convinced of its innocuousness and docility.

In order to grasp the nature of economic technique, it is first of all
necessary to grasp the reasons for its rise. One of its causes is so
simple that I shall mention it only in passing. This is the evolution
of the sciences in general.

The sciences in general, in the twentieth century, have passed
through a crisis of growth characterized by the appearance of cer-
tain problems of methodology and technique. Economic science
is likewise abandoning dogmatic positions and deductive methods
in order to establish exact procedures. This may have taken place
before the first gropings of the infant science had borne definitive
results. Many economists believe that the ideal science, which must
serve all others as model, is physics, and that economic method
must approximate the method of physics taken as general type but
not as specific means.

At the same time economists feel, as a kind of challenge, the in-

I 6 0 ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

effectiveness of their system. Nothing has exposed the vanity of
political economy better than their contradictory diagnoses and
therapies for economic crises. For some the cause of crisis is an un-
saleable surplus of goods; for others, insufficiency of production.
For some it is an excess of savings; for others, a lack of them. And
as far as the proposed remedies are concerned, some economists
would raise the discount rate and others would lower it. Some hold
that wages must be stabilized and others demonstrate that they
must be lowered. Such contradictions can only arise from a defect
of method. And the economists bitterly resent the ironical attitude
the public has toward them. One of them recently wrote: “The
public believes in the physicist, but it has no confidence in the
economist.” Policymakers absolutely cannot rely on what the econo-
mists say, nor follow their contradictory counsels with respect to
action. All this, then, made it mandatory to replace the regime of
theories, which gave birth to nothing but opinion, with a rigorous
method which “sticks” to facts.

The need to stick to the facts became more imperative as the facts
themselves became more complex. Here again the effect of tech-
niques made itself felt. The facts of economic life could be grasped
directly when economic life was still relatively simple, when eco-
nomic phenomena (for example, at the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury) presented a picture which, in magnitudes and elements, was
compatible with direct experience. But the enormous growth of the
economic milieu has made direct apprehension impossible and
brought about the decline of corresponding modes of reasoning.
Everyday logic cannot embrace more than a very limited number
of data. It was therefore necessary to invent a method correspond-
ing to the increasing complexity and amplitude of economic phe-
nomena. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a “technical
state of mind” appeared which developed mightily toward mid-
century. This state of mind was characterized, first of all, by an
effort to make a hard and fast separation between what is and
what should be. The doctrinal character of economics was com-
pletely repudiated. The sole interest was in matters of fact. The
goal was simply to know scientifically, to accumulate facts, to put
them in mutual relation, and, if possible, to explain them by means
of one another.

The T echnological Society (161

Political economy is no longer a moral science in the traditional
sense. It has become technique and has entered into a new ethical
framework, which I shall define later on. This represents a de-
cisive step for the creation of a technique. The technical state of
mind is likewise evident in the creation of a precise method (which
more and more consists in the application of mathematics to eco-
nomics) and in the precise delimitation of a sphere of action. In
effect, in order for technique to exist, method must be applied to a
fixed order of phenomena. In the transition of doctrine to technique,
the central idea was the distinction between microeconomics and
macroeconomics, as in the work of Francois Perroux, a leader in
this inquiry in France.

We have here a decisive situation. Microeconomics studies
economic phenomena at the human level where the relatively hu-
mane traditional methods can be applied, where individual de-
cision is respected, but where the complete application of the tech-
nical apparatus is not permitted, either with respect to method or
with respect to action. The observation of facts on the microeco-
nomic level does not ipso facto entail action, and to promote action
is one of the principal characteristics of techniques. Even if
microeconomic inquiry is useful and congenial, it nevertheless ap-
pears to have no future because it pertains to the limited world of
the individual

Macroeconomics, on the other hand, opens all roads to technical
research and application. Technical application presupposes, as we
have already noted, measurable magnitudes, elimination of errors
of judgment, and amplitudes of movement wide enough for tech-
nique to have an understandable object. These are precisely the
characteristics of macroeconomic inquiry. There is no doubt that
the methods of macroeconomics are still somewhat uncertain, and
many phenomena are recalcitrant to it ( for example, scientific tech-
niques applicable to revenues). Nevertheless, this is the domain a
priori of technique and we can be assured, as a consequence, that
this is where the really effective forces will be concentrated. We are
likewise assured that microeconomics, far from being an element in
the foundation of macroeconomics, or a complementary element to
it, will be absorbed. It will lose its reason for existence to the extent
that macroeconomics develops surer techniques. We are heading

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMt

1 62 )

toward a society in which knowledge of microeconomic phenomena
will be the result of simple deduction from knowledge of macro-
economic phenomena.

The technicians in these new disciplines all have one trait in
common: the joy of constituting a closed group in which the lay-
man has no part at all. This represents an unconscious tendency; but
we observe it among many modern economists in the form of a se-
cret technique, an esotericism, a certain contempt for whatever
does not belong to its new world of means.

This “pride of youth” always appears among technicians when
they are convinced that their new method is unassailable and that
their discoveries are becoming the center of things. The authority
in which they clothe themselves takes the form of a secret vocabu-
lary which is incomprehensible to the outsider even when it is em-
ployed, as often happens, to enunciate the most obvious facts.
Technique always creates a kind of secret society, a closed frater-
nity of its practitioners. It is a new thing in the milieu of economics
to note a kind of studied incommunicability. Up to now, every man
with a little education was able to follow the works and theories of
the economists. To be able to follow them today, one would have to
be both a specialist and a technician. The technique itself is difficult
and the necessary instruments cannot be managed without previ-
ous education. And there is that caprice of many economists to
constitute themselves a closed society. These two factors coincide,
indicating the grave consequence of excluding the public from the
technical life. Yet it can scarcely be otherwise.

Technique as a general phenomenon ( as we shall see when we
study the political milieu) always gives rise to an aristocracy of
technicians who guard secrets to which no outsider has access. De-
cisions which have a serious basis take on the appearance ot arbi-
trary and incomprehensible decrees. A cleavage like this, which is
inevitable in the advance of technique, is decisive for the future of
the democracies. Economic life, not in its content but in its direc-
tion, will henceforth entirely elude popular control. No democracy
is possible in the face of a perfected economic technique. The de-
cisions of the voters, and even of the elected, are oversimplified, in-
coherent, and technically inadmissible. It is a grave illusion to be-
lieve that democratic control or decision-making can be reconciled
with economic technique. Little by little the elements necessary to

The Technological Society (163

the creation of this technique are taking shape; and soon they will
be perfected.

The Economic Techniques of Observation . I do not intend to
describe these instrumentalities; I am concerned here solely with
exhibiting them as an ensemble.

The principal instruments which have been developed are: statis-
tics, accounting procedures, the application of mathematics to eco-
nomics, the method of models, and techniques of research into
public opinion. It is evident that these elements reciprocally con-
dition one another.

At the base of the structure lies statistics, the instrumentality for
determining the raw facts of economics. At one time statistical data
were ridiculed on the ground that they were misleading. But this
stage lies behind us, and nowadays a large measure of confidence
rests in the precision of such data. This change has resulted, in part,
from a change in the state of mind of the statisticians themselves.
They are immersed in a "statistical atmosphere” and comply with
the quantitative and numerical practices of the modem world To
statisticians, statistics is no longer a mere game; it is an essential
operation of society. This represents a change not only in perspec-
tive and in seriousness, but also in basic position. For a long time
statistics was the work of amateurs; today it is a complex organiza-
tion of specialists. It has become a profession and, as a conse-
quence, is practiced much more earnestly. Moreover, the statisti-
cians have at their disposal increasingly precise instruments. Among
these instruments (which have transformed administrative as well
as statistical technique) are the calculating machine, the punched-
card machine, and microfilm. Not only has the speed of operation
been prodigiously accelerated, but also its precision and its dimen-
sions. By means of microfilm, hitherto uncombinable elements can
be combined; and by means of the electronic brain, operations can
be effected which the human brain could never perform.

The statistician is, materially speaking, in a position to perform
convincingly. This is even more evident in the utilization of statisti-
cal data. As we shall see, the combination of the elements is essen-
tial, and this combination becomes feasible largely through the
intermediacy of the machine.

A final element increases the professional seriousness of the statis-
ticians: their responsibility. In democratic countries, it lies in the

l6j. ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

realm of private enterprise; the various organs concerned with sta-
tistical data in effect sell their studies to the great corporations
which must know precisely, for example, the course of a market. If
the information proves inexact, the statistician can be sued in
civil court, at least in the United States. In countries under authori-
tarian rule, responsibility is a public matter; in the Soviet Union the
statistician who gives false information is regarded as a saboteur.

These elements together make modern statistical data more and
more precise. The great scope of statistical operations and of the
organs involved generally escapes the nonspecialist. To give a sin-
gle example, there are in the United States fifty-six federal agencies,
each of which specializes in one or several statistical categories. Al-
together, twelve categories of weekly statistics are published. One
of these, the category of price, takes in four elements. One of these
(gross price) comprehends 1,690 weekly quotations combined
in 890 series. This indicates the extreme complexity of the opera-
tion. It must become even more complex when interpretation is
undertaken.

All this work is not motivated by pure scientific interest. It is
oriented toward action. Permanent inquiry of this sort is no longer
instituted to construct or support doctrines but rather to relate in-
formation to action. In order to succeed in effecting this connection,
interpretation is necessary, and this is the principal task of the tech-
nical discipline called econometrics.

Econometrics is distinct from mathematical economics. It is much
more theoretical. Its principal operations on statistical data are two-
fold: (1) analysis, comprising operations such as simplification or
dissociation of statistical data; and {%) comparison, which can be
applied to different kinds of elements. Magnitudes can be com-
pared by establishing what are called equations of regression,
which express a constant relation between two magnitudes of the
economic domain. Variations can also be compared; here a correla-
tion index is established, according to which two economic phe-
nomena vary in direct or in inverse proportion but with the same
velocity. Within the same realm, the econometrician tries to estab-
lish certain relations: no fact in the economic domain can be re-
garded as due to chance; and not satisfied with simply noting and
giving the correlation formula, the econometrician goes further and

The Technological Society ( 1 6 5

establishes the causal relation between two phenomena, a proce-
dure which leads into the future.

Until recently, economists operated on concrete data alone. But,
for the purposes of action, they must make predictions. A distinction
must be drawn between predictions which are made according to
the system of covariations, and causal explanations of phenomena.
Here the economist leaves the purely technical realm. An equation
no longer provides the solution; there is a certain subjectivity, a cer-
tain personal judgment. To be sure, it is present in the various
other operations, but to a lesser degree.

Economic technique has taken over a variety of other means; for
example, stochastics, the application of the calculus of probabilities
to economic phenomena. This technique is extraordinarily difficult
to handle. It does not operate on raw figures but on statistical data,
on data furnished by econometrics (as, for example, the coefficients
of elasticity), and on the data furnished by public-opinion research
institutes. In connection with the third element, it is evident that
economic phenomena are not mechanical; opinion plays a role, In
a very simplified way, it might be said that stochastics seeks to es-
tablish a law of probability, or of the frequency, of a given event,
starting with a very large number of observations. Stochastics,
therefore, represents an instrument of prediction which gives the
direction of the most probable evolution of the situation.

This stochastic calculus is limited only by the nature of the eco-
nomic and social milieu. For example, if a given law is exact, the
public which is informed of it tends to react in the inverse sense.
But sometimes it reacts by conforming to the law. The act of predic-
tion is thus in a sense self -falsifying. But the public, by so reacting,
falls under the influence of a new prediction which is completely
determinable. The economist is able to establish laws of probability
for all deviations of opinion. It must be assumed, however, that
one remains in the framework of rational behavior. The system
works all the better when it deals with men who are better inte-
grated into the mass, men whose consciousness is partially para-
lyzed, who lend themselves willingly to statistical observations and
systematization. The results obtained by this technique are impres-
sive, even though the technique is still immature.

Much more classical, and of a different order, is the whole com-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

166)

plex of accounting techniques. These techniques have been much
modified and no longer belong merely to the realm of enterprise
but rather to that of economics. The accountant is no longer a mere
agent for registering the movement of funds in an enterprise. Ac-
cording to the Lutfalla report published by the Conseil Economique,
1948, he has become a veritable “profits engineer/' His operations
encompass not only money but all the elements of production. He
is oriented toward the past and also toward the future. The more
complex manufacturing operations become, the more necessary it
is to take adequate precautions and to use foresight. It is not possi-
ble to launch modem industrial processes lightly. They involve too
much capital, labor, and social and political modifications. De-
tailed forecasting is necessary. We shall meet this question again
when we discuss planning, but it is appropriate here to call atten-
tion to the so-called “input-output" techniques Leontieff has
pointed out. These represent a method designed to establish in a
precise, numerical way the interconnections among all sectors of
production techniques. They determine for each sector what is
bought from and sold to the others. This method makes it possible
to establish in detail what raw materials, instruments, tools, and
machines are required to produce a given product. Under present
conditions, one can no longer fix magnitudes approximately or be
content with mastering certain key subjects. For even a very ordi-
nary commodity, two or three hundred basic elements must be
taken into account. Exact quantities, weights, and times must be
fixed. The necessary calculations can only be performed with the
help of computing machines. With this method the well-known and
hackneyed formula — that everything is reciprocally dependent —
becomes a rigorous reality. But it is the technical elements which
are reciprocally dependent, welded together by a common neces-
sity and expressed in certain new techniques.

What holds for the private accountant is even more true for the
public accountant who works on a nationwide scale. There are
certain differences between the two insofar as enterprise has pri-
vate profit as its end. As a consequence of the profit motive, the pri-
vate accountant must comply with die rules of capitalist manage-
ment. The public accountant (who becomes an accountant of
initiative) draws up balance sheets and future revenue potentials
for a complex organism whose reactions are slow and of great am-

The Technological Society ( 2 e 7

plitude when referred to the impulses at their origin. If public en-
terprise behaves in any way like capitalist enterprise, its internal
dynamism complies with certain laws. The role of the accountant
is to discover these laws. The effects of this new revenue-calculating
economic technique, which relates economic effects to their causes,
are easily seen in fields such as the liquor industry, housing, trans-
portation, and so on. It is clear that this calculated revenue poten-
tial bears not merely on money but also on human capital France
does not yet have a central accounting service which could com-
pletely exploit this technique and establish a measurement of social
needs, means of production, movement of capital, national income,
and demographic change, etc.

Returning to the methods of pure economic technique, we find
the metljod of models. It is extremely difficult to experiment in eco-
nomic matters. But experimentation is indispensable in all sciences
and even more so in techniques. As Vincent puts it, a model is a
“simplified but complete representation in its numerical aspect of
the economic evolution of a society; for example, a nation during a
given period” A model is a reproduction in miniature of a certain
economic ensemble in the form of mathematical equations. It is im-
possible, obviously, to put all economic phenomena into a model; a
certain arbitrariness is called for. The primary act is therefore a
choice, founded on some theoretical decision, of the constants and
variables to be put into the model This theoretical decision, how-
ever, is not arbitrary. It is guided by certain principles, in particular
the necessity of linking observation to action. Once the constants
and the variables of the system have been selected (and they may
be numerous), the relations between them are established Some
of these relations are evident in the sense that they are purely
quantitative; others are more unstable and subjective and must be
established by the economic technician himself. They are empirical
relations, verified or proven false by experiment Finally, the en-
semble of these relations must be put in the form of equations by
insertion of the time factor. Then, by solving the equations, it
is possible to study the evolution of the system and its incidences.
This facilitates the study of the evolution of certain mechanisms
determined by a social group, or of the incidence of some ex-
terior intervention into an economic system, or of the influence
and importance to the whole of every element in an ensemble

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

168)

Models can be purely theoretical or historical, as when the data
arise from statistics (in which case they must be tested against
the actual evolution of society). Or they can be predictive, as when
the attempt is made to forecast the future. These predictive models
are the object of great interest in the study of economic complexes.

The last of these new economic techniques which I wish to de-
scribe in this brief review is public-opinion analysis. Everyone is ac-
quainted with the Gallup Institute, which has branches in almost
every country of the world. Various systems (soundings, sam-
plings, inquiries ) are used to establish periodically the feelings of a
given class or category of the population; about any important
question. Certainly, there is strong skepticism about these methods.
No one believes that he thinks and acts like his neighbor. No one is
sympathetic to the notion that he is a mere number in some list or
series; and this unconscious rejection makes for skepticism. None-
theless, the results of such samplings must be deemed valid, in
spite of the seeming (but easily explainable) setbacks they suffer,
as, for example, in the well-known case of the American presiden-
tial elections of 1948. The results reflect various phenomena: soci-
ological currents, ethical preferences, and political opinions with
which we here are not concerned. But other results reflect eco-
nomic currents: opinions concerning prices and wages, commer-
cial choices, urgent economic needs (to the extent that they are
measurable), and so on. In sum, anything in the nature of an opin-
ion which can be grasped by a good observer or reporter will hence-
forth be numerically measured and followed scientifically during
all stages of its development. This method represents a great revo-
lution; it permits the integration of opinion in the technical world
in general and in economic technique in particular. This system
brings into the statistical realm measures of things hitherto unmeas-
urable, It effects a separation of what is measurable from what is
not. Whatever cannot be expressed numerically is to be eliminated
from the ensemble, either because it eludes numeration or because
it is quantitatively negligible. We have, therefore, a procedure for
the elimination of aberrant opinions which is essential to the
understanding of the development of this technique. The elimi-
nation does not originate in the technique itself. But the investi-
gators who utilize its results are led to it of necessity. No activity
can embrace the whole complexity of reality except as a given

The Technological Society (169

method permits. For this reason, this elimination procedure is
found whenever the results of opinion probings are employed in
political economy.

The economist is thus provided with an arsenal of technical
means which enable him to observe and sometimes to predict eco-
nomic reality in detail. Then the following question is unavoidable:
Will these techniques remain simple techniques of observation, of
pure knowledge? We grant that their creators had no ulterior mo-
tives. The means are there simply to be of assistance to economic
science. But will this motive be adhered to? Let us consider the
position of the economist as J. U. Nef has described it. The econo-
mist, more or less stricken with an inferiority complex in regard to
the public, "‘abandoning the hope of affecting policy by objective
thinking, seeks refuge by becoming an expert and counselor on
questions of technology or practical politics.* Economists cherish
the hope of influencing reality. The technique of knowledge the
economist is now acquiring allows him, through the state, to exer-
cise this influence. We note this in all countries, no matter what
their type of economy or form of government. It has been called the
reign of the experts, but it is in actual fact the reign of the techni-
cians. Economists today have the means of being technicians near
the seat of state power. But even without wishing to take account
of this tendency, we know that these means of observation of reality
will not remain inert. Like all techniques, they possess specific
weights and direction. The reasons are very simple.

An organization for establishing statistical data is extremely
costly and cannot continue without profits. One way of making
a profit is to sell statistical products to a capitalist clientele, which
will utilize them to guide its business into certain channels. A
statistical bureau then becomes a counseling bureau. But the
use of statistical data in a semiliberal capitalist economy is re-
stricted and cannot be developed to its full effectiveness. This
incapacity of capitalism correctly to employ techniques appears
time and again. Mumford says: “One of the most flagrant faults of
capitalism is not to have known how to make use of existing lab-
oratories, for example, the Bureau of Standards, to determine
norms from which the whole body of consumers would have bene-
fited/* The tendency of technological society is to determine the
movements of the macroeconomy; yet it is striking to note that sta-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

170 )

tistics, once established, tend to revert to the level of the micro-
economy and individual decision, and to find employment only on
this level. This is obviously insufficient; the economists are in a
position to lay claim to something better than a clientele which,
in any case, seldom enables them to cover their costs. They must
address themselves to the state. Certain semipublic corporations
finance the operations, but it is clear that the state demands its
quid pro quo. If the state is to pay for statistical research, it must
get something in return: assistance in directing national affairs.
The state requires the economist, on the basis of statistics, to seek
out methods of intervention either directly or by subtle means
such as those advocated by John Maynard Keynes. When the
great private corporations or the state ask the economist for a
method to influence reality, they are addressing the economist s
own invincible longing, which in the beginning engendered the
improvement of these scientific means. Suppose that we have ac-
cumulated enormous quantities of facts, have encompassed the
whole of reality, and possess the means to follow the mechanism of
economic phenomena and even to a certain degree to predict them.
Shall this accumulated force, then, serve no purpose? The 1952
report of the American Bureau of Labor Statistics shows clearly
that this ensemble of means leads inevitably to planning.

We confess that we are unable to follow Closon s reasoning
when he declares that the operations of the Compabilite Nationale
are not a threat to freedom because, in fact, they are not applied.
Once the trends of the economy have been recognized and re-
duced to numerical form, will it be tolerated that no intervention
be undertaken when the catastrophic consequences of some de-
cision or other have been clearly perceived?

On a more modest but still significant plane, what meaning has a
detailed accounting of all the needs of a thoughtless worker (in-
cluding the number of springs in his mattress and the number of
razor blades he uses annually), undertaken in order to establish a
minimum wage, if he can spend his money haphazardly? Mere pre-
diction would plainly be absurd. The irrationality of the individual
keeps him from living on the amount he could live on according to
calculations. He would die of hunger on a subsistence minimum,
unless an authoritarian education made him conform.

Let us grant that this represents no more than a temptation to

The Technological Society ( 1 7 1

the economist. But it would require superhuman strength not to
yield to this temptation once action becomes possible; the more so
because the informational techniques described are closely con-
nected to techniques of action, as are the establishment of norms or
of accounting plans. We have distinguished somewhat arbitrarily
between knowledge and action in order to present in the most ob-
jective way possible the normal development of economics pro-
duced by the creation of these techniques. Even when they serve
solely for the purposes of knowledge, it is clear by how many routes
they end in intervention. Econometrics is only to be understood if
it issues in its normal end, the establishment of economic plan-
ning. Without this, econometrics is inefficient, and efficiency is the
very law of technique. Like a horse chafing at the bit, the tech-
niques of economic science await the signal to intervene more com-
pletely than ever before in the reality they have come to under-
stand.

The Economic Techniques of Action. At the same time that the
economist has created a technique for knowing, he has created a
technique for acting. A new world is awakening, an economic mu-
tation is being effected. Among these techniques of intervention we
shall consider only two: plan and norms.

The establishment of norms by the economist has become neces-
sary, Dieterlen tells us, simply in order to follow and understand
economic development (A good example of the transition from
techniques of understanding to techniques of action.) It is not
sufficient merely to follow the course of statistical data. It is neces-
sary to erect in advance a system of norms of progression of the
elements of a given economic system which will permit us at any
moment to estimate the divergence of a given element of the sys-
tem from the norm. Even in a nondirected economy, it is possible
to determine (a) a certain relation among the different economic
components; ( b ) a “normal” tendency for the evolution of each of
these elements; and, consequently, (c) a “normal” evolution of
their relation. When such a scheme has been established, it is then
possible to say whether one of the elements is progressing too rap-
idly or too slowly, a fact which, in Dieterlen’s opinion, should
serve to reveal the causes of an economic crisis.

But if we thus establish certain norms of progression, we are con-
fronted with two facts. First, the necessity of intervention: once

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

17*)

the norm has been set tnd a condition which diverges from it has
been observed, it would be folly to permit a dangerously abnormal
phenomenon to develop. Second, the possibility of extending such
an establishment of norms. Why should inquiry be limited to a
given system? Once a calculus of norms is possible, it ought to be
extended throughout the economy. This legislative tendency
will operate not merely in the area of the organization of labor. A
bureau for setting standards, or a service of industrial analysis, is no
longer limited to the co-ordination, say, of wages and of the scien-
tific organization of labor. These operations transcend the level of
private enterprise and attain the level of the general. They har-
monize the complementary activities of wide economic sectors. We
are then completely within the technique of intervention; the tran-
sition from the one to the other has been imperceptible.

If the term norm is taken in its exact meaning, it is evident that
the application of the system of norms orients us in a unique direc-
tion. Under capitalism, norms are fundamental to the planning of
enterprise, but the tempo of production remains a function of mar-
ket conditions. In a planned economy, norms are fundamental to
all economic calculations. They determine the quantities to be pro-
duced and measure the degree to which the plan is realized in the
market (Fedotov) . The technique of normalization can only have
full scope in a planned economy. It tends, in proportion to its devel-
opment, to imply a planned economy, simply because it tends to
pass from private planning and an atomized economy to a global
economy and general planning (the fundamental condition of its
application). A global economy is more exact to the degree that
both these aspects of planning are subject to the law and control of
the machine, as Mas indicates.

All this represents a tendency rather than an accomplished fact
As soon as industrial normalization intervenes, it brings with it
this tendency which inevitably devalues the older economic types
and the older industrial organizations.

Norms mutually entail each other and presuppose certain syn-
chronizations. It is almost impossible to conceive of localized
norms. If it is asked what the motive force behind this tendency is,
once again we must answer: efficiency. The logic of norms was
clearly evident in the application in Britain in 1940 of the National
Research Project. Research on the measure of production and its

The Technological Society (173

practical consequences spread like a slick of oil and brought the
whole of industry into line. It has been praised as “political econ-
omy entering into action.**

This “chain reaction” is also only a tendency at the moment It is
claimed that counteracting factors, economic and human, will pre-
vent it from becoming a reality. But these other factors are not tech-
nical. The competition is between divergent forces, the one techni-
cal, the others not And in our society the technical factor must pre-
vail over the others. I therefore believe that in this area, too, the
logic of norms will impose itself everywhere. And if in my analysis
of this development I seem to have isolated the technical factor,
this is not because I choose to neglect or fail to recognize the others.
But, as I have already demonstrated, the technical factor is at pres-
ent the decisive one. In addition, most of the other developmental
factors are well known and almost universally studied, whereas
the technical factor remains, in general, obscure.

As soon as norms become essential because of their obvious util-
ity, they appear to complement the plan. There is no better means
of co-ordinating them or permitting them their full efficiency than
to integrate them into a plan. This is what I mean by the logic of
norms .

Another technique of intervention which has recently become
essential (and which I shall only mention) is so-called operational
research. Its basic characteristics, its objectives, and its meaning are
identical with those of norms. But the problem here is a problem of
decision. Norms and operational research are today the two means
by which the plan is executed.

Planning represents a second aspect of the economic technique
of intervention. Everyone has an approximate idea of what plan-
ning means: the state decides everything and regulates everything
in advance. We must analyze at least the characteristics of the plan-
ning operation, if not its details. Economic planning is a variety of
technique, not a form or a system or an economic theory. Not a
single economy of any type whatsoever has been constructed by
means of planning. We think otherwise because the Russian ad-
venture has always appeared to us in such a guise. “It was desired
to build an economy of the collective type and to succeed in this a
plan was elaborated.” But the Russian plan assumed its own mean-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

174)

ing independently of all theoretical ideas. In reality, the plan is a
technique and ipso facto indifferent to doctrines and opinions; it is
least of all concerned with principles of action. In Germany no one
had any very clear concept of the economic form that should be
adopted, but planning was accepted as an efficient means. In our
own day, it is even more true that plans develop in all countries
without any foundation of economic doctrine. This, in one sense, is
very reassuring. People constantly say: *lf we remain true to our
old doctrine and the plan is only an instrument, we remain what
we were. If planning has sometimes functioned as a socialist in-
strument, it was only because it was in the service of socialist doc-
trines."' This is, as consolation, illusory. But it is at least founded on
the truth that planning is not connected with any particular doc-
trine. System or not, however, it perhaps implies a certain definite
form of economy.

A second observation leads us to insist on the importance of
“ways and means” in the establishment of the plan. The plan is not
merely a set of commands or some general orientation. There are
two focuses in the plan. There is the choice of objectives, the direc-
tion to give to an economic system in its ensemble. There is also the
most concrete possible anticipation of the means needed to reach
these objectives. Economic choice of objectives and the establish-
ment of corresponding means — such is the plan. But this choice and
these means are elaborated in the most rational possible way, and a
whole complex of techniques of application enables the user to
avoid arbitrariness. With regard to the techniques of the forma-
tion of a plan, we refer the reader to the works of Charles Bettel-
heim.

Now let us consider a great difficulty which is an important point
of discussion in modern planning: prices and wages. Until now, the
plan has been more or less tied to “real” prices and wages. Plan-
ning, if not actually established by the market, was at least fixed in
temporal or spatial relation to market prices and wages. But this
situation could not last long. The intention of the third Soviet
plan was precisely to fix prices and wages in a purely abstract, but
not arbitrary, way by certain econometric methods, independently
of the laws of the market It would seem from the various wage
manipulations which took place in 1949, and the repudiation of
Vosnessenski, that this attempt was not a success. However, we

The Technological Society ( 17 5

must consider it as the only logical way in which planning could
then have been undertaken. And this approach may vew well be
eliminated by new improvements in economic technique. This
would set to rest the objections of Francois Perroux, for whom the
plan was thereby deprived of all “economic rationality.”

A plan is executed in accordance with two constant principles:
efficiency and social need. The plan first answers the constant
search for the most efficient use of mechanical means, natural
riches, and disposable forces. The problem is to organize, co-ordi-
nate, and normalize these elements in such a way that each instru-
ment produces its maximum yield. Planning has been criticized on
all fronts, from the philosophic to the economic. But no one has yet
questioned the fundamental efficiency of planning, except at the
beginning. This criticism had its origin in two things, the gropings
of the planners and the ignorance of the critics. Everyone has since
become convinced that the mechanism is efficient — with allowances
for a certain bluff that up to now has accompanied planning experi-
ments. As far as technique is concerned, judgment is based solely
on efficiency, and planning appears fully justified in this respect
The second of the two principal criteria of planning is the satis-
faction of social needs. The initial difficulty is to determine just
what these needs are at a given moment How shall we effect the
balance between social needs and production? Theoretically these
are insoluble questions (I say theoretically advisedly). The pro-
posed means (opinion polls, ration cards, obligatory absorption by
the buyer of whatever is produced) indicate that the question as it
is usually posed is abstract If one says: “In planning, the consumer
is in command,” one is making abstraction from the fact that the
plan, a sociological phenomenon, answers to social need and not to
individual need. At the same time one is thinking of an abstract
man (a kind of fixed image of man), and this, too, renders the pro-
posed question inoperative. The social man envisaged by the plan
is a man integrated more and more into modem technical society.
His needs are more and more collectivized, not indeed by direct
pressure, but by publicity, standardization of goods, intellectual
uniformity, and so on. It is well-known that “to the standardization
of production corresponds a standardization of taste which gives to
social life its collective character.” Moreover, mass consumption
corresponds spontaneously to mass production. There is no need

technique and economy

176)

for repressive measures. The adaptation of the public occurs of it-
self. The average man becomes the norm in the most liberal system
in the world because only the products necessary to the average
man are offered on the market In fact, the problem of understand-
ing social needs is complicated only if planning technique is sepa-
rated from all the other techniques. These other techniques spon-
taneously lead men to feel certain social needs conformable to
certain data. When the plan is reinserted into its true framework, it
is evident that there is no need of forcing social needs. They are
prepared in advance, so that the plan is in a position to correspond
exactly to them, after a more or less difficult period of adaption.

The whole evolution of human needs, in their '‘sociologism, 1 *
tends toward the plan. There is almost no necessity any longer to
exert pressure on these needs. They are already what they should
be, provided that we abandon human misfits to their miserable lot,
a procedure which is, in any case, the course of all techniques.
When it is a question of dominating the world, one cannot stop to
consider Kirgiz shepherds or Bantu huntsmen who will not accept
tWkws of the determining forces.

Planning does not pretend to produce an immediate response to
all social needs. As I have said, there is choice. It is choice which
can render certain persons unhappy but not hopeless, because the
plan is inserted into a dynamic conception of the economy. The
equilibrium between production and consumption is neither static
nor does it exist at present It is to come, and will constantly re-
new itself. The choice effected at a given moment is placed in a
general perspective which makes this choice relative, and at the
same time subordinate, to subsequent foreseeable development It
is necessary therefore to consider both the future of realization
and the mechanism ot uniiormization of needs (which I have al-
ready mentioned). This leads the two lines to come together con-
stantly. This is an element of the dialectical view of the economy,
which is the only one admissible today. During the realization of a
plan, a constant readaptation of means and ends is simultaneously
effected, assuring a greater cohesion of the ensemble, if not a
greater certainty of realization.

Finally, it seems to me important, in connection with the plan
itself, to emphasize the need for utilizing the labor force efficiently.
It would appear that full employment is an internal necessity, not

The Technological Society (1 77

merely a momentary circumstance, of the plan. Charles Bettelheim
has demonstrated that without full employment there is no possi-
ble satisfaction of the totality of social needs. In this connection,
wages change their character and become a part of the social
product. The plan ought, therefore, to provide for both full employ-
ment and the assignment of the labor force in accordance with the
requirements of the production plan. It becomes indispensable to
extend the plan to the whole labor force. Without this, the mecha-
nism cannot function. And this then poses the question of the
place, of the limitation, of the characteristics of planning.

One need not yield to the puerile enthusiasm that considers plan-
ning a panacea, a polyvalent remedy like penicillin. But it is nec-
essary to put the plan into a different perspective. Whatever the
remedies or proposed reforms for resolving injustice and incoher-
ence in the modem economy, everything occurs through the agency
of the plan. The plan in itself is no solution. But it is the indispensa-
ble instrument of all solutions. Even if one starts with Knut Wicksell
or John Maynard Keynes, one meets again and again the urgency
of planning.

In Mumford’s proposals to release man from the clutches of tech-
nique, there is an interesting project for an economic regionalism
on a world-wide plane. But this regionalism can, in fact, only be
based on the exceedingly complete and rigid planning of produc-
tion and distribution.

Planning and Liberty . Everybody, or almost everybody, is con-
vinced today of the effectiveness of the two techniques of interven-
tion, norm and plan. And, in fact, in view of the challenges which
not only nations but political and social systems hurl at one another,
and even more, in view of the challenge that man is making to
misery, distress, and hunger, it is difficult to see how the use of the
means provided by planning could be avoided. In the complexity
of economic phenomena arising from techniques, how could one
justify refusal to employ a trenchant weapon that simplifies and re-
solves all contradictions, orders incoherences, and rationalizes the
excesses of production and consumption? And since the techniques
of economic observation, if they are to have their full scope, issue
directly in the technique of planning, and since there can be no
question of renouncing the youthful vigor of these mathematical
methods, how is it possible not to see them through to the end?

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

178)

Yet a certain disquiet has appeared among those who cherish
human freedom and democracy. They ask if planning is not an all-
consuming force. They seek to set three kinds of limits to its power,
represented by: (fl) flexible planning, ( b ) the system of limited
planning, and (c) the separation of the planning agency from the
state (in short, what is usually called the reconciliation of liberty
and socialism). No one accepts Friedrich August von Hayek’s
proposition (in his Road to Serfdom) that planning is essentially
evil. Conscientious economists are unable to renounce technical
discovery. They seek a middle term . 1 Is it to be a limited plan? But

1 See a compendium of ideological illusions concerning planning and liberty con-
tained in a recent special number devoted to this question in the Indian Journal of
Political Science. Ten or so articles attempt to demonstrate that planning is indeed
indispensable but that it presents no danger at all to freedom. A complete unreality
characterizes these articles. The position of the authors can be summarized as
follows.

First, they express the hope of saving freedom through liberal and partial plan-
ning. { However, other authors in the same volume show that this hope is absurd
and ineffective.) Second, the articles contain other formulas, equally absurd and
without content. “Planning should have as its object the realization of freedom”;
‘'The more rational planning becomes, the greater the freedom of the people.” These
are mere affirmations, and one would seek in vain for corresponding realities or for
a possible content

Some of these authors rely for proof of their propositions on a series of simple
syllogisms. For example; “( l) Planning increases production, (a) Production allows
the satisfaction of more needs. (3) The satisfaction of needs is the condition of
freedom. Hence, planning is the condition of freedom.” This reasoning is faulty for
two reasons. It is linear and takes no account of the complexity of the facts (for
example, put a man in prison, give him everything he needs; he is nonetheless
free). It aerives its conclusion partly from an economic premise (the first) and
partly from an ethical premise (the third), without attempting to distinguish the
logical planes on which these premises lie. The third premise is, in any case, wholly
questionable from a spiritual or ethical point of view. (I shall return later to a
discussion of this.)

But for these authors the principal hope of saving freedom, in this amazing theory,
lip«; to the claim that an enlightened public opinion has the oower to direct the
decision of the planners toward the satisfaction of its real neecls. In this case, one
would indeed have democratic planning, collectivism on a voluntary base. But to
reason like this is surely to move in a world of dreams. The good faith of these
intellectuals compels one to think seriously of pathology.

Can anyone really believe that, if public opinion wanted pastry shops, planning
could be oriented toward these institutions, if, in addition, the other uses of flour
had to be sacrificed? Can anyone really believe that public opinion would receive
any satisfaction if it demanded footgear when tractors were needed? Such beliefs
are simple nonsense. It will be maintained that public opinion does not really know
what it needs . . . But then the technician makes the decision. We are familiar
enough with the mechanism: first producer goods, then consumer goods. Of course,
public opinion will be “consulted” after the technician has made his decision: “You
would have preferred woolen goods? Technically impossible; we had to make them
of cottoa Green? Unfortunately, there is no aniline. But you can choose between

The Technological Society ( 1 79

then the problem is posed: where lies the limit? For some econo-
mists, planning is a purely economic question bearing on key in-
dustries. But the debate has lasted a century and no decision has
been reached as to which industries are key industries. The deci-
sion becomes even more difficult as categories change with time
(the extraction of uranium, for example, was not a key industry
twenty years ago) and as the interpenetration of economic activi-
ties becomes greater and greater. It is becoming extremely diffi-
cult to analyze the factors involved in production. Every part of the
system is, directly or indirectly, dependent on all the others through
financial repercussions or through the structure of labor. How,
then, is it possible to set up a planned sector of the economy along-
side an unplanned sector? When one rereads what was published
on this problem only ten years ago, it is clear that these studies
are completely out of date and have been rendered null and void
by subsequent technical improvements. Let us assume that a plan
has been made for a five-year period. If now the attempt is made
to limit it to economics by allowing the greatest possible freedom
outside this area ( for example, by having no planning in the social
domain ) , how can this economic plan possibly be viable?

The problem of financing is necessarily raised even by a flexible
and limited plan. It was clear, at the time of the discussion of the
new phase of the Monnet plan (September, 1950), that bank credit,
the appeal to private financing, was insufficient It was necessary
to turn to public financing. But this represented an enormous un-
dertaking, even for the state. The state was obliged to concern it-
self with the planning of its finances according to the more or less

light red and dark red. See what freedom you have!" In effect, these authors
seek to baptize obedience to technical necessity with the name freedom. They
attempt to hide the real compulsions and write either out of blindness or hypocrisy.

Only one of these articles is valid. Suda declares: "So much the worse for freedom.
We can sacrifice it. In any case, on the plane of values, dedication to the common
good is a higher ideal than freedom." I cannot agree with this, but at least it allows
us honestly to assess our situation. We encounter the same attempt at justification
(In general, better supported but as unconvincing) in Entre la planificaiion et la
liberty, in which Dutch, French, Norwegian, and American authors study the prob-
lem from very varied viewpoints ( Revue Economique , March, 1953).

These illusions are contradicted by Tibor Mende himself ( India After 12 Years ,
1959)- He shows that Indian agricultural planning (the communal projects of the
villages) collapsed because it was not comprehensive and authoritarian. His com-
arison of India with China is a clear demonstration that, in accordance with the
criteria of yield and efficiency (the sole justified criteria of any planning), the most
authoritarian methods are the most profitable.

l80 ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

new totalitarian financial conception, which assumes control of the
whole national revenue and affects every citizen.

In order for the plan to be realized, the use of the labor force
must also be integrated into it This is recognized by Great Britain,
for example, in its conception of full employment The application
of the plan likewise presupposes planning of housing and of voca-
tional guidance, apprenticeships, and schools. Moreover, it quickly
becomes clear that there is a need too for social security ( a neces-
sary psychological and sociological element if full employment is
to function without too violent a shock to human nature). This in-
terrelation is not imaginary and gratuitous. Internal necessity con-
nects the elements of the plan, and it is folly to think of breaking its
links.

Thus the plan, once adopted as method, tends perpetually to
extend to new domains. To limit it would be to put the method in
a position in which it cannot function— exactly as though one were
to construct efficient automobiles but refuse to build adequate
roads. The car could indeed run on narrow, rutted, and sandy roads,
but it would not give the results for which it had been designed.
Certain complementary given elements become proportionately
more numerous as planning improves and modern society becomes
more complicated. These mutual relationships render limited plan-
ning impossible. The plan engenders itself, unless technique itself
is renounced.

The same situation holds if the planner aspires to adopt a flexi-
ble plan or one independent of the state. In such a case the fun-
damentals of the plan are not obligatory. The plan appears as mere
advice concerning what would be desirable; the producers remain
independent, the consumers have free choice, and the attitude of the
individual prevails over the social The flexible plan is subject to
constant revisions and readjustments demanded by universal per-
sonal freedom. The same holds true if the attempt is made to refer
the organization of the plan to agencies other than the state: to
narrower organisms, such as administrative divisions of specialized
economic organizations; or to organizations of wider scope, as, for
example, international organizations. The appeal to international
bodies is designed to vitiate the criticism of such writers as Hayek
concerning the dangers of totalitarianism which arise when the
State is in charge of the plan.

The Technological Society ( 1 8 1

These different proposals are extremely deceptive* The flexible
plan has only one defect; but that defect is crucial: the plan cannot
be realized. The reason is simple. If the plan corresponds to the
real nature of planning, it ought to fix objectives, which normally
would not be attained by the play of self-interest and a modicum of
effort. It must stretch productive forces to the maximum, arouse
energies, and exploit existing means with the maximum of effi-
ciency, (That planners do not always succeed, that administrative
errors occur, and that not all planning invariably acts with the maxi-
mum efficiency is no more a criticism of the system than errors of
calculation are a criticism of mathematics.) But if the individual is
allowed freedom of decision and there is no plan, he will not make
the maximum effort required of him. If the industrialist is allowed
to retain full independence, he will seek out other arrangements
and not arrive at the objectives proposed. Hence, the plan, in or-
der to be realized, must be paired with an apparatus of sanctions.
This appears to be a veritable law of economics; planning is in-
separably bound up with coercion.

The individual does not realize spontaneously what is most ef-
ficient. Nor do the workers conform spontaneously to Gilbreth’s
“movements." The following alternative presents itself. Either the
plan is flexible but is not realized, as experience shows: in spite of
the propaganda about the Monnet plan, its objectives were only 70
per cent realized. The flexible plan of the Bulgarians (1947) was
37 per cent realized. The Monnet plan, which ought to have been
completed in 1950, was actually completed in 1953, having taken
twice the proposed time. In L’action psychologique (1959), Mai-
gret restudies the effect on the breakdown of the plan of the ab-
sence of propaganda (which would have rendered the plan psy-
chologically compulsory). It is useless to expend the great amount
of labor which goes inte a plan only to reach a stalemate. Or the
plan must be realized, but at the cost of loading it with sanctions
so that it becomes more rigid. Those who count on the good will
of mankind display a delirious, idealistic optimism. Centuries of his-
tory, despite the facts, have not been able to convince them of the
contrary; reason certainly will not change them. But they are so
far removed from reality that their opinion is negligible.

The problem of sanctions brings planning into relation with the
state. Anyone who claims that planning and the state are separable.

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

l82 )

or that local plans can be carried out (the TVA is always cited ), has
forgotten that local plans must be guaranteed by the state or they
come to nothing. And this suffices to give back to the state all its
prerogatives. It is evident (and Russia and Germany were no ex-
ceptions) that it is not the state itself which creates the plan, but
rather some specialized organism more or less dependent on it.
As to the TVA, the source of this enterprise was the Roosevelt
government, which performed operations of expropriation, made
means available, and assured sanctions.

How, then, is it possible to retain a belief in the independence
of the plan? The bond between planning and the state is organic
and not due to chance. At the minimum, the power of the state is
required for a general examination of available resources and to put
all the national forces to work. I do not use the word planning in
the technical sense, as when one points to school-construction pro-
grams or traffic-signal installations. Local entities are of course able
to execute such programs. But they do not represent planning any
more than does dike construction in the Netherlands. If they did,
the “planning” of a house by an architect would have to fall under
this category. As to international decisions (which might be cited
as a proof of the separation of the plan from the state), these do
not represent plans in the proper sense of the term (for instance,
the Bretton Woods agreements). The sole hope of realization of
international plans — for example, in Europe — rests, as we clearly
see today, on the existence of a European state. This kind of plan-
ning acquires substance only to the degree that such a state is con-
stituted. This fact corroborates our thesis. Only a supranational state
would be able to convince both the national states and the trusts
to co-operate in a common economic operation. The Dawes and
Young plans ended in failure because they had no means for genu-
ine sanctions and no political power to support them. Conversely,
we note that the Marshall Plan (which became the EGA) is im-
perceptibly producing a political system. The Atlantic Pact is a cor-
relative to the Marshall Plan, and Europe will begin to organize
itself only in the event that the ECA is seen to be completely use-
less unless it is applied to a politically ordered world.

The Americans understood perfectly that the only alternative to
a useless expenditure of money in the ECA was a European politi-
cal organization. Unification, or even economic co-ordination, can-

The Technological Society ( 1 8 3

not be conceived of independently. Mere understanding or good in*
tentions can scarcely result in real planning. Again we are back at
the necessary conditions for the realization of a planned economy.

That in an ideal society the connection between plan and state is
unnecessary, just as the need for penalties disappears in the case of
the individual as he exists in himself, I am willing to admit. But
that does not make me believe in such an ideal and take it as a
reality. In fact, I note that techniques of knowledge engender and
necessitate techniques of action, and techniques of action presup-
pose certain conditions and developments in accordance with a
true law which might be called the law of the extension of planning.

This extension of planning does not necessarily bring about a so-
cialist society. Private ownership of the means of production need
not be modified in order to have a planned economy. Likewise,
planning does not necessarily bring about a dictatorial state. The
use of sanctions and propaganda can be accommodated to forms
other than dictatorships. But when a technique invades a certain
domain, in connection with planning, the technique effects its
whole operation with completeness. It is useless to try to set limits
to it or to seek some other mode of procedure.

The Great Hopes

Economic Systems Confronted by Technique . Jean Marchal is
right in reducing to three systems the economic solutions presently
recommended. MarchaPs three systems are: corporatism, planning,
and liberal interventionism. But after having correctly observed
that the system of planned economy is at bottom no more rational
than the system of the market economy, he is wrong in adding that
“the choice between the two systems follows more from philosophic
preferences than from truly scientific considerations”; and that “nei-
ther of these systems can pretend to a total rationality.”

It is not philosophical preferences which weigh one system
against the other, or which lead to the choice between them. If I
ask myself which of the two ought logically to prevail, I am not
referring to the "philosophical” choice of the masses. It is efficiency
and success that lead history to adopt a certain direction — not man
who in some sense makes a decision. The problem does not concern

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

184)

personal decision or preference; it is a question of discerning what
seems most probable. At the present moment, what system is most
efficient? I insist on the phrase at the present moment. It means
nothing to explain that liberal capitalism was extraordinarily effi-
cient a century ago. The statement is true and we do not wish to
deny it. But what of the present moment? If we accept the idea that
different human systems of action ought to correspond to different
social, political, and economic circumstances, can we uphold the
thesis that the past efficiency of liberal capitalism is a pledge of
present efficiency? Let us remember that from the point of view
of efficiency the Russian and German planned economies were
successes. And the United States adopted a planned regime when
it was challenged by war — it may be added, with all the care and
precaution presupposed by the critical democratic sensibility of the
Anglo-Saxons.

Shortly after reconversion, in 1950, however, tlie Americans were
obliged to embark on a new program. It was not merely an arma-
ments program ( which had certain advantages in connection with
full employment), but a sound program encompassing a group of
countries, as indicated by Truman’s Point Four. These programs
presupposed a planned economy.

It would seem that we are today unable to escape the facts. And
the facts direct us toward the planned economy, regardless of our
theoretical judgments in the matter. It is also often asked whether,
after long periods of planned economy, the trend could be reversed.
But this is another problem.

We must ask why these fixed and rigid programs (which emerge
in a planned economy) are adopted on a wider and wider scale,
irrespective of doctrines and intentions. The only reply is that plan-
ning permits us to do more quickly and more completely whatever
appears desirable. Planning in modern society is the technical
method. It does not necessarily represent the best economic solu-
tion, but it does represent the best technical solution. We must de-
mand of planning what it is able to do, and nothing else. Marchal,
therefore, is right in saying that the planned economy is not more
rational than the market economy. It is not at all certain that it will
result in any greater savings. I understand that one of the pre-
occupations of economic science is whether a result has been at-
tained in the most economical manner possible. But this is possibly

The Technological Society ( 185

only an abstract point of view and, in any case, is secondary. The
same problem arises in war between one general who hesitates to
sacrifice human life and another general who desires victory at any
cost and is willing to sacrifice everything to gain it. Unfortunately,
our experience since the eighteenth century has been that the gen-
eral who hesitates to make the sacrifice is always defeated. The
same problem is posed by “dumping.** In speed, intensity, and co-
herence, the technique of the plan proves superior. There may be
waste. This is not completely certain. But it ought not to be for-
gotten that the charge of waste was one of the keenest criticisms
leveled against liberalism. It is possible that waste will be mitigated
through an improvement of the technique. We are not presently
in a position to say one way or the other.

These observations might be summed up in the statement that
in one case technique exists and in the other it does not. But things
are not so simple. It is standard practice to set up in opposition
the possible solutions; for example, corporatism and planning. But
we should guard against the possibility that the contrast is com-
pletely artificial. We should guard against abandoning ourselves
to the judgment of the specialists. The important question is one of
perspective. Every system is composed of different elements. We
can put these elements in different perspectives and thereby arrive
at different judgments. The specialist will fasten on certain specific
elements. Either he will envisage a given system sub specie aster -
nitatis , in which case his judgment will be that the planned econ-
omy and the corporate economy are clearly not identical. Or he
will envisage the system from the viewpoint of practical realization
in all the facets of its achievements. In this case the structure of a
corporation (or the systems of corporative production) will again
be judged not to be the same as the structure of the planned econ-
omy in genuinely concrete details.

These elements of a given system, which are important in their
specificity, lose importance, however, if, instead of isolating the
system, we try to reintegrate it into the complex of society and
into the general course of history. What then takes on importance
are the elements in their relation. Relations are of the highest im-
portance, not mere internal consistency. It is the connections be-
tween the economic system and the state (with its technical
means, different classes, and structures in national form) which be-

I 86) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

come characteristic. And we do not mean here theoretical connec-
tions, but real ones resulting from the internal necessity of the re-
gime. From this point of view, the corporate economy and the
planned economy come singularly close together, to the degree
that both systems (a) take a firm hold on the economy, (b) man-
age it on the basis of exact mathematical methods, (c) integrate it
into a Promethean society which excludes all chance, (rf) centralize
it in the frameworks of nation and state (the corporate economy to-
day has no chance of success except as a state system), ( e ) cause
it to assume an aspect of formal democracy to the total exclusion of
real democracy, and ( f ) exploit all possible techniques for con-
trolling men. The kinship of the two systems is obvious in spite of
differences in material structure.

The end pursued by both the corporate economy and the planned
economy, and the means adopted to reach this end, are identical.
Only the outward forms change. It is useless to compare these
forms. History will decide which form is best — best adapted to the
common end.

It does not seem to me to be exact, therefore, to hold that there
are three possible economic pathways. There are only two. And
only one of them entails the exploitation of these techniques; the
other one ascribes the chief place to nature. ( Here again is the old
opposition between the natural and the artificial, the artificial repre-
senting the expression of art: technt.) The complete identity,
rather than the resemblance, between corporatism and planning
ought to be noted Corporatism is adapted to a traditional, culti-
vated, bourgeois mentality; planning, to an innovating, proletarian,
pseudo-scientific mentality. But the attitude of the two is funda-
mentally the same. And, speaking objectively, the result, insofar as
the real structure of human society is concerned, will be identical.
As to the choice between the two, the system that can best utilize
the techniques proposed by the economists will prevail. Up to
now, there is no doubt that the planned society seems better able
than the corporate society to utilize these techniques. The cor-
porate society brings to bear a whole complex of nontechnical
considerations (sentimental or doctrinaire) which the planned
society rejects.

It may be objected that in the planned society politics intervene
on a major scale and that this is not technique. I would then ask

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what kind of politics is meant As we shall see, politics have tended
to become technical in the countries that have adopted planning.

The serious study of the opposition between politics and eco-
nomics, and of the relations between them, dates back perhaps
twenty years. This opposition has tended to become less and less
real as the two have found a common denominator in technique.
When the economy and the political milieu are simultaneously sub-
jected to technical method, the problem of the interference of
politics in the economy ceases to have major importance. It no
longer has the same significance as personal influence, private inter-
est, or moral judgments. The alignment of the two has not yet been
fully completed — and this constituted the particular weakness of
Hitler’s Germany — but it takes more than a decade to overcome
technically great political and economic machines.

All these considerations attest to the fundamental likeness of the
corporate economy and the planned economy. Only these two eco-
nomic attitudes are left. They should not be considered, however,
in their extreme aspects. A planned society does not imply that
every detail is integrated into the plan. Nor does the plan provide
for the humblest means. Liberalism, likewise, cannot be understood
in its entirety. One scarcely speaks any longer of a “liberal inter-
ventionism” in which the distinction is made between the policy of
structure ( improvement of distribution, etc. ) and the policy of pros-
perity ( influence on the economy itself of certain means which have
been decided upon; for example, money). The state no longer
leaves the economy to itself; but state intervention is flexible enough
to allow the entrepreneurs some initiative and grant ( controlled )
freedom to the market. This is the attitude of the best minds in
France. They are guided not only by a desire for equilibrium and
a traditional confidence in the "middle of the road,” but also by a
preoccupation with human and nonconformist elements. I do not
deny that these elements are desirable, or that attributing a strategic
role to the state ( while reserving tactical freedom to the citizens )
is a tempting concept. But I am searching for the possible here.
Would such an economic orientation really satisfy technical condi-
tions? Is it realizable in depth? The answer is certainly yes, if we
abstract it from reality. But when we come back to reality, it is
immediately evident that the liberal orientation represents the most
difficult of the possible alternatives. The equilibrium we seek be-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

188)

tween technique and freedom and between state and private enter-
prise is not stable. It is continually being put to the test and must
be ceaselessly re-established. The tension required of the individual
in this struggle seems to me to raise a grave question. Is it feasi-
ble to obtain from the individual ceaseless effort to establish the
very framework of his activity? And will his activity within this
framework be sustained? In other words, is this equilibrium the best
possible condition for economic development? Will not the energy
employed to secure the structural framework be dissipated in some
other quarter? One must take account, after all, of human nature.
This is even more true of a liberally supervised economy than of a
totally planned economy, precisely because the former entails a
certain degree of freedom for the individual. The human being,
left to his own devices, will not choose the most difficult paths or
the tightest situation. He will choose the line of least resistance. I
am speaking of the man of the twentieth century, the product of
the society based on ease, security, and comfort
The average man like myself, or the entrepreneur of my acquaint-
ance, has no great desire to maintain his equilibrium at the expense
of a ceaseless re-creating of a failing virtue. Under these conditions,
he finds that things go badly. He far prefers a simple solution,
summary, no doubt, and brutal, but assuring him an easy road.
Since means of direct intervention are available, the average person
prefers that they be used ( unless private interests lead him to prefer
the freedom of the great beasts of the jungle). The partisans of di-
rect intervention present two conditions as necessary to its realiza-
tion: first, a reform of the state, which is henceforth to transcend
all private interests and be endowed with competent organisms for
flexible and concealed intervention; second, a precise and complete
economic theory dealing with the sequence of economic events and
the means of intervention. These two conditions amount, however,
to a single condition: the primacy of technique. But then the same
problems recur. There is the difficulty of preventing technique from
going to the limit of its potentialities. There is the difficulty pre-
sented by the conjunction of economic and political techniques
which mutually reinforce one another. And so on. Is it credible that
a state which has become really technical (we shall study its char-
acteristics in the following chapter) will be satisfied with half meas-
ures? Nothing of the kind. The seeds of destruction are in the very

The Technological Society ( i $9

conditions proposed for the establishment of the economic form
represented by liberal interventionism. Thence the fundamental in-
stability which renders the attempt to establish such an economic
form not a final solution but merely an intermediate stage.

This development (that is, from liberal interventionism to the
fully planned society) is the more certain because liberal interven-
tionism has usually corresponded neither to the general tendencies
of society nor to the historical situation. I certainly do not wish to
imply that such an economic form, from the standpoint of economic
science, is not valid or justified. But when considered in the frame-
work of todays reality, it loses its validity.

The general tendencies of modern society are too well known for
me to dwell on the contradictions they offer to liberal intervention-
ism. It is said that this solution, which allows for concessions and
would abandon certain values it believes cannot be saved, in order
to preserve certain others, represents an underhanded way of es-
tablishing collectivism. My answer is that the problem is essen-
tially spiritual. The economic orientation called liberal interven-
tionism presupposes a spiritual revolution that has not yet even
begun.* Again, the historical situation is eminently unfavorable to
the philsophy of the '‘middle of the road." Herein lies the chal-
lenge that is made both in war and in peace to peoples seeking to
orient themselves in this direction.

The simple presence of the Soviet Union acts as a catalyst and
transforms the internal situation of the semiliberal countries,
whether they have direct economic relations with the Soviets or not.
Here we have a planned economic system in competition with cer-
tain other systems. As Marchal has shown, when contact is estab-
lished, the capitalistic countries, out of commercial necessity, are
obliged to align themselves with the Soviet system. In other words,
planning technique forces the competitors to imitation.

This effect has been brilliantly analyzed by Gottfried Haberler.
He demonstrates that the development of state socialism and col-
lectivism is reflected in the whole economic complex and results in
a generalized nationalization of economic activity and in state mo-
nopolies of foreign commerce. A country engaged in planning its
economic activity will establish quantitative controls over foreign

I refer the interested reader to my book Frttence au monde mcdeme.

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

* 9 °)

trade in order to adapt it to the general national planning. Quotas
and exchange controls are established which are then necessarily
reflected in the commerce of nations that aspire to free activity.
Haberler astutely notes that measures of international commerce
taken by free nations in response to other countries with planned
economies in turn result (if they are co-ordinated and planned) in
a marked degree of internal economic planning. State monopolies of
international commerce cannot result in multilateral and nondis-
criminatory commerce. Haberler shows also that commercial agree-
ment on a liberal basis is not possible between nations with a
planned economy and nations with a nonplanned economy.

In view of the disturbance from abroad, then, how is it possible
to maintain the delicate mechanisms of the policy of prosperity
based on individual enterprise?

The planned economy seems to represent the most probable solu-
tion imposed by economic technique and desired by the greater
part of modem society, not only of men but of powers.

The real problem is not to judge but to understand.

Progress r. Technique, in its action on the economy, awakened vast
hopes in human hearts. And certainly there is no question of deny-
ing these hopes. The machine and all that came with it, all it
brought in the way of progress, would put into human hands riches
perhaps different but as impressive as those of legend. These riches
would not be piles of gold or precious stones reserved for the dar-
lings of the gods, but comfort and pleasure for everyone. And if the
carved palaces, the chests encrusted with coral and enamel, the
scultpures and objects of gold, the precious table services, the arms
with handles of emerald and pearl were all fated to disappear, in
compensationevery man was promised decent glassware and porce-
lain, a house in which he could be warm, abundant nourishment,
and, little by little, comfort and hygienic surroundings that would
assure him physical and mental harmony. Everyone was to have
in full measure the wherewithal to live. And, more than that, new
needs would arise which would no longer be the rare pleasures of
initiates but simply the human condition. To drink chilled bever-
ages in the summer or to be warm in the winter would no longer be
the costly fancy of a prince.

Poverty was retreating and, with it, man’s suffering. The machine
was taking over. The time devoted to work remained time wasted;

The Technological Society ( i Q i

but it was constantly decreasing and no one imagined that this
process would ever stop.

This extreme view of things developed so rapidly that by the
end of the nineteenth century people saw hi their grasp the moment
in which everything would be at the disposal of everyone, in which
man, replaced entirely by the machine, would have only pleasures
and play. We have had to lower our sights. In practice, things have
not turned out to be so simple. Man is not yet relieved of the
brutal fate which pursues him. What appeared so near has again
been postponed. Yet two wars, two “accidents,” have in no way af-
fected our glorious conception of progress. Spiteful actions of fate,
human errors — call them what they will — men refuse to see in
them anything that essentially affects the marvelous progress that
opens before them. In spite of accidents, they believe that the road
is still free. The man of the mid-twentieth century preserves in his
heart exactly the same expectations as his grandfather had.

No doubt he has repudiated what he thought was naive. And
perhaps a certain distrust keeps him from enjoying the full life to
the extent that he might have expected. Even if he is unaware of
it, the average man preserves in his collective consciousness the
obscure feeling that he has been duped. He had believed so com-
pletely in the takeover by the machine, and in plenty, and he does
not wish to fall into a trap again. Nevertheless, hope persists wher-
ever tomorrows beckon; say Hitler’s Thousand Years, or the bour-
geois’s stupid notion of progress. The hope is still the same, but the
human being (model 1950) tells himself that he can only attain
Paradise through the destruction of his enemies. His feeling of frus-
tration — occasioned by the abrupt loss of what was possible and
even within reach — is one of the elements behind the atrocities of
modern wars. When man finds the foe who stands in his way and
who alone has barred Paradise to him (be it Jew, Fascist, capitalist,
or Communist), he must strike him down, that from the cadaver
may grow the exquisite flower the machine had promised.

All myths directly or indirectly go back to the myth of Paradise;
and the technical productivity man is witnessing seems to have
spurred a proliferation of myths. Psychologists and sociologists have
observed the appearance of new myths; and many theories have
been advanced to account for this return of man to the sacred
world. But such explanations are unsatisfactory because they lack

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

193 )

a material basis. That material basis is, in fact, the enormous tech-
nical progress of the modern world. This progress restores to man
the supernatural world from which he had been severed, an in-
comprehensible world but one which he himself has made, a world
full of promises that he knows can be realized and of which he is
potentially the master. He is seized by sacred delirium when he sees
the shining track of a supersonic jet or visualizes the vast granaries
stocked for him. He projects this delirium into the myth through
which he can control, explain, direct, and justify his actions . . .
and his new slavery. The myth of destruction and the myth of ac-
tion have their roots in this encounter of man with the promise of
technique, and in his wonder and admiration.

If we consider the theses of the economists, we find that they,
too, affirm the same hope. They locate it elsewhere and prescribe
conditions and modalities to it, but the foundation is the same.
Technique is for them, too, the only means of abundance and lei-
sure. Fourastie is right in putting the case numerically to dramatize
the shortening of the work week and the enormous transformation
in living standards and in the qualitative nature of life. The case
is indeed simple if 1950 is compared with 1815. But it is no
longer quite so simple if 1950 is compared with 1250. It is impor-
tant to consider, for labor, not only time but intensity. It is possi-
ble to make a meaningful comparison between the fifteen-hour
workday of a miner in 1830 and the seven-hour workday of 1950.
But there is no common denominator between the seven-hour day
of 1950 and the fifteen-hour day of the medieval artisan. We know
that the peasant interrupts his workday with innumerable pauses.
He chooses his own tempo and rhythm. He converses and cracks
jokes with every passer-by.

Exactly the same holds true for the qualitative nature of life.
If a whole people is oriented toward the search for justice or purity,
if it obeys in depth the primacy of the spiritual, it does not suffer
from the lack of material things, just as we today do not feel the
inverse need of the spiritual. Such preferences depend on personal
judgment and on the society concerned.

We cannot say with assurance that there has been progress from
1250 to 1950. In so doing, we would be comparing things which
are not comparable. Certainly, an airplane which, after all, exists
concretely seems like progress, compared with dim historical mem-

The Technological Society l 1 93

ories. Therefore, it is advisable to limit ourselves to saying that
there has been progress since the beginning of the industrial era,
which was founded on the breakup and destruction of the non-
comparable and vanished old order. For modern man with his pe-
culiar orientation — which has material possessions and "stomach’*
as the central values — the period of great hopes indeed arrived.
And these hopes are the same (even if the forms differ) for a man
met at random and for a great economist.

However, as it is said in England, "you get nothing for nothing,
and not much for sixpence."’ In spite of leisure and abundance,
supposing that leisure and abundance come in the way men expect
them, there is a great difference between this state and Paradise.
The difference has to do with the cost. The old dream that has
tempted man from the beginning, the medieval legend of the man
who sells his soul for an inexhaustible purse, which recurs with an
enticing insistence through all the changes of civilization, is per-
haps in process of being realized, and not for a single man but for
all. I say perhaps. Modern man never aks himself what he will have
to pay for his power. This is the question we ought to be asking.
(And we shall do so later, after we have completed our descrip-
tion of the technical phenomenon. )

Centralized Economy . We are now in a position to trace certain
characteristics that technique imposes on the economy of the mod-
em world. We must recall that there is no accommodation with
technique. It is rigid in its nature and proceeds directly to its
end. It can be accepted or rejected. If it is accepted, subjection
to its laws necessarily follows.

What are the effects of these laws on the economic world? The
first trait that can be clearly perceived is the connection between
the economic mechanism and the state. This connection exists not
by virtue of socialist doctrines, nor because the state wills to inter-
vene, but because there is no other way of proceeding when tech-
nical development is present.

Technique always supposes centralization. When I use gas, or
electricity, or the telephone, it is no plain and simple mechanism
which is at my disposal, but a centralized organization. A central
telephonic or electrical station gives substance to the whole electric
network and to every individual piece of apparatus. The technical
"central* is the normal expression of every application. A coexist-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

194)

ence of these centrals is implied: a completely centralized organi-
zation which ultimately encompasses all human activities. Techni-
cal centralization is one of the major realities of our time. The ques-
tion is whether these centralized organs can exist independently of
one another. Can each develop in its own specific and autono-
mous way? Jiinger, who poses this question, is correct in stressing
that the system is not hierarchical, that every technical body is in-
dependent of its neighbor, and that there is no subordination among
them. Economically and politically, however, the risk is very great.
Each of the centralized bodies must be put into its proper position
and relation with respect to the others. This is a function of the
plan, and only the state is in a position to supervise the whole com-
plex and to co-ordinate these organisms in order to obtain a higher
degree of centralization.

The idea of effecting decentralization while maintaining techni-
cal progress is purely utopian. For its own centralization, technique
requires interrelated economic and political centralization. And we
are speaking here of mechanical technique alone, without going
into the motives of political technique.

The state, which by its very nature is the organ of centralization,
is at the same time the organ of choice of the technical centraliza-
tion. Anyone who believes statesmen are malevolent in willing cen-
tralization demonstrates thereby only his own naivete. The state is
forced to realize the plan for exclusively technical reasons.

We have already seen how the necessity of sanctions brings about
a relation between the plan and the state. This relation can also
be envisaged as the administrative framework of the state, which
supports the techniques of planning and assures them freedom of
operation and a certain stability. I must insist on this last charac-
teristic.

The techniques set up by the plan must envisage economic real-
ity and its probable development as faithfully as possible. In order
to elaborate a plan, however, it is necessary to consider certain ele-
ments as stable and fixed, and not take all elements as simulta-
neously variable. But there is no guarantee that these elements
will really be fixed. The same difficulty arises when it becomes sub-
stantially impossible to forecast the development of some factor or
other in economic life. In such a case, either a hypothetical evolu-
tion of the factor will be posed, or the factor will be fixed arbi-

The Technological Society ( 1 9 5

trarily. This is a problem in a five-year plan and, much more
acutely, in a plan of longer duration in which production must be
projected far into the future. An excellent example is the ground-
work for the electrification of France. Should it be based on steam
plants or hydroelectric plants? To decide this, inquiry must be
made, among other factors, into the relative cost price of each sys-
tem for a given amount of electrical power produced. These plants
would be designed to last for a long time; but how long? Let us
suppose the period to be the mean duration of a waterfall, a hun-
dred years. The calculation would then proceed on this basis,
subject to three fundamental factors; the cost of the initial estab-
lishment, the capitalization of the maintenance charges for a hun-
dred years, and the cost of coal for a hundred years. The third of
these factors can be calculated roughly; but what of the second?
It depends on the interest rate, which cannot be predicted that far
i* advance. There is yet another factor: monetary developments.
How then can the plan be established? There is only one way: to re-
quire state guarantees; to obtain from the political power the as-
surance that for the realization of the plan the interest rate of the
loans will not vary.

It may be noted in passing (and this confirms our thesis of the
unity of the technical phenomenon ) that the improvement of sta-
tistics makes it necessary for the state to intervene in economic
technique: the publication of statistics may be of great utility to
the intelligence services of some eventual enemy. Stuart Arthur
Rice gives examples of statistics in foreign commerce which con-
tributed to sabotage operations. Hence, the state must centralize all
statistics and either make available only statistics of interest to a
given category of businessmen or manufacturers or keep completely
secret whatever might be of interest to the enemy. This surveil-
lance was entrusted, in 1950, in the United States to the Bureau of
the Budget. It must be noted that American public opinion is not
content with this compromise. It tolerates badly the “indecision”
imposed by the cold war. However, a strong minority desires a total
blackout of statistics, as in the Soviet Union. The state would then
have indirect, but nevertheless complete, control of economic ac-
tivity, inasmuch as it alone would know the full economic situation.

A bond is thus established between the state and the economy
whereby technical progress is not possible without the interven-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

196)

tion of the state. This does not mean that the whole economy is in
the hands of the state. We ought, on the whole, to abandon the idea
of a ravaging and dictatorial state. Let us think only of the cold
and impersonal mechanism that holds all sources of energy in its
hands. What is production without energy? What is the economy?
Does not the agent that controls the supply of energy also direct the
economy? Technically speaking, the control of energy can no longer
be in the hands of any agent but the state. This is true even in
the United States, as has recently been shown.

If statistics are to be given their full scope, it is necessary to co-
ordinate the actions of different organisms to avoid useless repeti-
tion, and also to pay the bill, since centers for statistical research
do not pay for themselves. When statistical data have been col-
lected, what agency but the state is in a position to exploit them
fully and make them yield their total practical value? It is scarcely
necessary to recall that the very different factors that result from
technique ( trusts, atomic energy, capital concentration, the hyper-
trophic enlargement of the means of production, and many more)
all entail state action. The relation established by technical facts,
which become the common denominator between state and econ-
omy, is neither chance nor fleeting. There is no possibility of re-
versing the movement, as certain idealistic anti-interventionists
would have us believe. Neither is there any hope, short of certain
extraordinary transformations, that the conjunction of state and
economy is transitory, as the Communists would have us believe.

Certainly, if production were to become sufficiently great, if the
system of distribution were perfect ( and, once fixed, were not sub-
ject to variation), and if, above all else, men were to become an-
gels (an indispensable condition), the conjunction between state
and economy might disappear. The same would be true if modem
technique were to vanish. But it is advisable to think in more re-
alistic terms.

The fact that the economy and the state are reciprocally joined
is technically founded in such a way that the two tend to become
aspects of the same phenomenon, a phenomenon which, moreover,
is not the the result of a simple accretion of previous phenomena.
It seems to me particularly important to emphasize this new charac-
ter. Because of the existence of techniques, we are beyond the
problems of ordinary Etatism or of socialism. It is not the simple

The Technological Society i 1 97

phenomenon of the growth of power or the struggle against capi-
talism which is decisive here. We are witnessing the birth of a new
organism, the technical state, which makes economic life more se-
cure in proportion as it becomes more technical. It is no longer
even possible to say: <c It could be done other wise.’ 7 In the abstract
as well as in the concrete, all technical evidence attests to the con-
trary. What is involved is in fact the logical development of the
nation-state.

This double relation (the state assuring the national life, and
whatever pertains to the nation converging toward the state) be-
comes more specific, stronger, and more rigid when technical
elements come into play. What was mere tendency becomes frame-
work, what was talk becomes means, and the relation of adminis-
tration to population becomes organization. And because the econ-
omy is an aspect of the nation, it, too, comes into the system. The
state, too, changes its aspect on contact with technical elements.
The principal goals of the economy are at first modified, but its
elements of pride and power, potentially always there, emerge sub-
sequently in a more brutal way. Humble humanitarian motives are
no longer important. Technique is too neutral and the state too
powerful for either to encumber itself with such things. It is no
longer even a question of wealth or distribution; in the technical
synthesis, the economy becomes again the servant, when (after
Marx) it had been thought the master.

The duel of politics and economics culminates in a synthesis in
which politics disappears and economics is forced into submission.
This synthesis, to be sure, has not yet been fully realized. France,
one of the older nations, is not even completely conscious of what
is happening. But the Soviet Union is already very close to this
synthesis, and the United States is being oriented in this direction
very rapidly as a result of the large-scale economic maneuvers
into which it is being forced. And, above all, new nations such as
Australia and New Zealand are spontaneously constructing this syn-
thetic complex. How could Africa even hope to refashion its society
rapidly (as its new independence requires) if it did not resolutely
embrace technical synthesis? Nasser, Mohammed V, and Castro
are all attempting precisely this.

I remarked above that this is not socialism. With the disappear-
ance of humanitarian goals, socialism is rendered unfeasible by

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

198 )

the sheer weight of techniques. The ownership of the means of
production ceases to be the central problem. Social equality be-
comes a myth as a result of the emergence of an aristocracy of
technicians; and the proletariat is necessarily extended (to no
one’s dissatisfaction), instead of disappearing. Certain elements of
socialism continue to exist; for example, social security, the redis-
tribution of the national income, and the suppression of individual
profit. But they exist as isolated fragments, and not as a system. It
is not even certain that these elements will be found in all the syn-
theses now being created. Their continued existence depends on
whether they are judged to be efficient. They cannot escape this
judgment. An excellent example of fragmentary socialism, based on
anything but socialistic motives, is given by Fourasti6. He demon-
strates (correctly, I believe) that capital decreases in importance
in proportion as technique increases in importance. “In a period of
technical progress, the wage value of capital tends toward zero,
whereas the physical product of capital constantly increases.”
Clearly, it is not a question of the absolute value of capital. Yet the
capitalist sees his assets lose value in direct proportion to the de-
velopment of technical progress. I shall not repeat Fourasties rea-
soning — it seems to me convincing. His conclusion, moreover, is
of the first importance: that the center of the economic problem is
shifting. The legal question of ownership is no longer important
The debate no longer concerns who owns the means of produc-
tion, or who will take the profits. The crux of the economic problem
has moved to the extreme point of technical development. The real
debate concerns who will be in a position to support, absorb, and
integrate technical progress and to furnish optimal conditions for
its development

It is contrary to the nature of technique to be compatible with
anarchy in any sense of the word. When milieu and action become
technical, order and organization are imposed. The state itself, pro-
jected into the technical movement, becomes its agent Technique
is, therefore, the most important factor in the destruction of capi-
talism, much more so than the revolt of the masses. Human revolt
can only accompany the destruction of capitalism and philosophize
about it. As to socialism, the final result is still indiscernible and no
prediction, except of a negative nature, is possible.

The T echnological Society (299

Economic centralization has been criticized on humane grounds.
Jean Francis Gravier has attacked the movement on purely techni-
cal grounds and has attempted to show that decentralization (at
least of the population) is necessary if society is to remain in equi-
librium. His thesis is as follows: Technique permits the diffusion of
the population over a wide area with as well developed economic
potentialities as the great cities. Diffusion would not be subject to
present health hazards, oppressive costs to communities ( a resident
of Paris costs the state five times as much as a resident of Vendee),
and so on. This thesis, then, is based on new technical development.
But there are three objections: First, decentralization is not possible
unless there is a powerful planned organization for decentraliza-
tion . Such an organization usually operates on the level of the in-
dividual, not of the economic organism. Second, population diffu-
sion could lead to an urbanization of the countryside rather than
to a true diffusion of the population into a rural milieu. Third, the
thesis represents a mere theoretical possibility and not a necessary
movement.

It must be admitted that actual experience seems to contradict
the thesis. Since 1955 a serious and concerted movement has been
under way to decentralize Paris and its industrial complex. The re-
sult so far is that six hundred industrial plants have left the area.
But only four thousand wage earners have been resettled in the
provinces, whereas, when the plants in question achieve full op-
eration, they will employ seventy-five thousand wage earners re-
cruited locally. Moreover, half of these six hundred plants have
been settled in the vicinity of Paris. During the five-year period in
question, fifty thousand new jobs have been created each year in
Paris alone and the population of the city has risen by nearly a
million.

Decentralization, then, has experienced a radical setback. Econo-
mists who have analyzed this setback conclude that in order to de-
centralize industrially it is necessary to effect total decentralization,
including administrative, financial, and cultural decentralization.
Total action, however, would be difficult to achieve; precise and
adequate technical motives for it do not exist Furthermore, it
would have to be implemented by authoritarian measures. The
state would have to act to constrain the citizens with authoritarian

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

200 )

penalties corresponding to authoritarian decisions. It is easily seen
that the proposed decentralization would have to rest upon a ma-
jor aggrandizement of centralized authority.

The Authoritarian Economy . An economy completely founded on
technique cannot be a liberal economy. (This is not entirely the
same as the preceding idea.) Technique is, in reality, opposed to
liberalism, a social form which is unable to absorb and utilize
modern techniques. It seems clear that economic liberalism is not
in itself a technique. In fact, the attitude represented by laissez-
faire, however much mitigated it may have become, is a renuncia-
tion of the use of techniques; techniques suppose conscious human
action, not abstention from action.

When liberalism requires men to put their trust in the obscure
alchemy of certain natural “laws,” it in effect restrains them from
making use of the technical means at their disposal. These means
permit men to intervene in the order of nature, to adjust its “laws”
to their purposes, and to exploit them, as in the physical order. They
also permit intervention that would appear to contradict natural
laws and modify the order of nature. It is clear, then, that they are
not really “laws” at all. In view of this, technique does not accord
these nonexistent laws the respect recommended by liberalism.
Therefore, when technique develops, both the liberal attitude and
its doctrine become impossible. I have posed the problem at its
most acute by placing it at the point of contact between liberalism
and the economic techniques of intervention ( which are the very
negation of liberalism). But my thesis is just as true for the simple
techniques of production which influence the economy. As I have
already shown, every mechanical technique supposes a correspond-
ing organization. And organization is the diametrical opposite of
free enterprise; and the organizational state of mind is the diametri-
cal opposite of the liberal state of mind.

It will doubtless be pointed out, by way of refutation, that pro-
duction techniques were developed during the ascendancy of lib-
eralism, which furnished a favorable climate for their development
and understood perfectly how to use them. But this is no counter-
argument. The simple fact is that liberalism permitted the develop-
ment of its executioner, exactly as in a healthy tissue a constituent
cell may proliferate and give rise to a fatal cancer. The healthy
body represented the necessary condition for the cancer. But there

The Technological Society ( 201

was no contradiction between the two. The same relation holds be-
tween technique and economic liberalism.

Here, then, is the locus of the conflict between technique and
the liberal economy, which Jiinger, among others, has studied.
Technique is inevitably opposed to the liberal economy because the
end of technique is efficiency and rationality, and the end of lib-
eralism is money profit. Technique requires of the liberal econ-
omy nonprofitable decisions and risks. For example, when expen-
sive new machines are developed before the old ones have been
amortized, the industrialist is forced to liquidate the old machines
or he runs the risk of being eliminated from the market. This con-
flict holds good on all levels.

When the state controls the economy, it faces similar problems.
But such problems affect every economy. In this perspective, plan-
ning is criticized as wasteful. Yet the very criticism shows that the
liberal mentality is still in force.

Even in a capitalist context, however, judgments concerning
wastefulness are modified with time and according to the sector.
In a report, the ILO has compared ordinary mechanization with
the mechanization of offices: “The mechanization of labor in offices
will often, against standard practice, be considered justified from
the viewpoint of profits, even if it increases the expenses of the
office. This is the case when mechanization increases the yield of
the productive unit of which the office forms the administrative sec-
tion” (Mas). But even taking into consideration such partial ex-
ceptions, it remains true that conflict between technique and the
liberal economy is inevitable because the liberal economy is essen-
tially based on profit It does not exist without profit. To a planned
economy, however, profit is not the highest value. Certainly, the
planned economy does not neglect the profit motive completely,
but profit represents only one element in its calculations. The prin-
cipal criterion of the planned economy is rationality (or effi-
ciency): in a word, technique.

In the conflict between technique and the liberal economy, tech-
nique, then, is victorious over the liberal economy and bends it to
its laws. The process is furthered, as I have shown, by the fact that
the liberal economy, insofar as it is thought out, itself becomes
technique. The unity between economy and technique is thus re-
stored, but liberalism is eliminated. Economists may seek to justify

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

202 )

this by speaking of ''public service” or the "common good,” but
such talk represents no more than a justification a posteriori, an
ideological smoke screen. It is, as such, not without value, but it is
not comparable in importance with the major fact of technical in-
vasion.

Liberalism is softened and progressively eclipsed in direct pro-
portion to the growth and imposition of techniques. The relation
between the degradation of liberalism and the development of
these techniques is unavoidable. The oft-heard assertion that lib-
eralism is capable of production but incapable of distribution rep-
resents the broadest view of the matter. How is it that liberalism is
capable of producing? The answer is that, in free enterprise, pro-
duction is not a part of the liberal framework. It is, rather, subject
to extensive planning, and it could not well be otherwise. What is
specifically liberal is the passage of consumer goods and their dis-
tribution in the various consumer sectors; and it is precisely the dis-
tributive process which works so poorly and which is constantly be-
ing hampered, since technique throws such enormous unmeasured
quantities of ill-considered products onto the market

The same is true of the tendency toward monopolies and trusts.
In all sectors of the economy, this tendency is the plague and the
destruction of liberalism, It ends either in a straightforward mo-
nopoly with no competitive' freedom ( whether the monopoly is pri-
vate or of the state, the result of the contest between state control
and liberalism is the same), or monopolistic competition, which is
no less ruinous than outright monopoly because of the waste it
causes. It is technique alone, in two different aspects, which gives
rise to these facts. First, financial techniques are encouraged, which
permit the establishment of institutions such as trusts and concerns
( this would be unthinkable without a prodigious development of
means) and assure the flexibility of these institutions on the level
of banks and stock exchanges. Second, competition is encouraged,
which, when it becomes established among several enterprises un-
der a liberal regime, is in reality a competition of techniques in
the microeconomic phase. To the extent that techniques remain
static, different enterprises are able to exist side by side, each with
its own clientele for its own products. Some of the enterprises may
be powerful and some weak, but the weak ones are nonetheless
still able to subsist. It is not magnitude of enterprise which destroys

The Technological Society ( 2 o 3

the equilibrium, but technical progress. The moment an enterprise
applies new procedures (for example, new public-relations tech-
niques, inachines that increase yield and decrease unit cost, busi-
ness organization that makes labor more efficient, financial modali-
ties that assure greater stability), it finds that these technical
elements give it an advantage over its competitors and allow it to
eliminate or absorb them.

Competition is thus an incitement to such technical progress as
will bring victory over the competitor. This means that competition
tends to destroy liberalism. It will be objected that competition does
not destroy the liberal economy completely because all the com-
petitors will adopt technical development. (In practice, certain sec-
tors of the economy are completely monopolistic.) In reply to the
objection, I reiterate that technique engenders itself and that any-
one who succeeds in making a headstart in the technical domain in-
creases his advantage without limit.

For these reasons I am unable to agree completely with Vincent's
position. For Vincent, as for me, technique and liberalism are in-
compatible. But, it seems, his reasoning does not take account of
all the facts. Vincent's thesis can be summarized as follows: “How
will the advantages of technical progress be divided in a pure lib-
eral regime, supposing perfect competition and nonintervention of
the state? It is clear that in this hypothetical case the producers who
have achieved technical progress would not be able to benefit
from it, since, by hypothesis, competitors will arise to bring sales
price to the level of decreased cost price." We conclude that only
the consumer would be in a position to benefit from technical prog-
ress. This implies an unexpected conclusion: since progress would
bring no special advantage, no one could be expected to want or
seek it The affirmation is inescapable that pure liberalism in es-
sence compels stagnation.

This way of putting the problem is rather hypothetical and ab-
stract. Vincent himself admits it. But, even so, the reasoning is not
convincing in itself. It is too easy to reply (and the liberals will
not fail to do so) that the application of such simon-pure liberalism
has never been an issue. What is important to liberals is a liberalism
adapted to economic conditions and then stabilized. This liberal-
ism would permit technical progress.

Vincents arguments are convincing only in regard to one side of

TECHNIQUE and ECONOMY

104)

the following dilemma: either liberalism remains true to itself, and
is forced to challenge technical progress according to the arguments
given above; or it adopts technical progress, and is obliged to repu-
diate itself. But the first alternative, that is, to stabilize the limita-
tions on liberalism, is impossible. The second alternative will be
the actual issue. The more technical progress advances, the more
constricted will be the role of liberalism.

Could we not pass between the horns of the dilemma by means
of the less and less likely possibility of competition? Just as techni-
cal progress never attains the absolute, so freedom of competition
will doubtless never disappear absolutely. But there is a point at
which it is no longer possible to speak of liberalism. In the most
authoritarian regime, some freedom remains. It is nonetheless an
authoritarian regime. The perspective changes depending on the
time and the psychology; the point at which we stop saying “lib-
eralism” and say “controlled economy* also varies. But the process
cannot be checked. No personal choice is possible. Certainly, it is
not that a strict automatism comes into play. To clinch the system
and complete the process, human decision and intervention are nec-
essary.

It might nevertheless be objected that economic laws have ex-
istence insofar as they are understood — that a choice is possible be-
tween technical intervention and a return to the free operation of
economic laws. Unfortunately, illusions and hopes are more tena-
cious than realistic considerations. When technical progress inter-
venes, it modifies not only the application of economic laws but
also the essence of the laws. We may consider this in two ways.
First, economic laws are not eternal like the laws received by
Moses on Mt Sinai. Our economic laws are valid only for a certain
type or form of economy. When technical progress occurs, it is
integrated into the economic system not as a foreign element but
organically. Technical progress is a part of the essence of an eco-
nomic system, not a mere accidental event. When some chemical
substance changes the metabolism of a body, the result is a new
situation which follows certain laws that did not hold for the pre-
ceding situations. The chemist studies a new combination from
which he must extract new laws. When the facts change, the con-
stants, as well as the laws, are modified.

Second, even if we insist on making value judgments, on declar-

The Technological Society ( * o 5

ing a certain state to be normal and the laws that control it alone
to be just, if, in other words, we want economic laws to be as
rigorous and eternal as the laws of physics, the situation does not
change. The laws of physics are known to be relative; the laws of
microphysics in force today are not the laws we learned from our
schoolbooks. The situation is exactly the same in economics. A
change of scale is not merely a change of magnitude; it is a modifi-
cation of nature. In fact, technique has modified the scale of human
economy, and the laws that held for the average economic system
at the beginning of the nineteenth century no longer apply in the
new scale of the economy we know today. Liberalism is only con-
ceivable if technical progress is choked off so that the system re-
mains at a fixed stage of equilibrium and of middling force.

The antinomy between liberalism and technique is further ac-
centuated when we consider that technique can give rise to noth-
ing but a mass economy. We refer here not only to the fact that the
expanding and developing economy embraces an ever increasing
number of human individuals and that demographic growth re-
quires such an expansion. Here we are not using the word mass in
the sense of great numbers, but in the usual sociological sense of
mass opposed to community. It is recognized that our civilization is
becoming a mass civilization. But we generally neglect the twofold
fact that technique is one of the important factors of this “massifica-
tion" and that the economy takes from it a particular form. Tech-
nique makes the economy a mass economy, that is to say, the econ-
omy taken as a whole to which we give the name macroeconomy .
(This hypothesis is necessary in order to account for the free play
of economic techniques.) Economic problems must be posed in
global terms, in terms of global income, global employment, global
demand, and so on. This global, macroeconomic conception cor-
responds to mass society, which is extremely differentiated, as we
know. Just as technique breaks down the barriers between eco-
nomic sectors, so an economy based on technique tends to burst
asunder the traditional sociological frameworks.

The macroeconomy is only a framework and an element of an
economic technique. It is indifferent to free enterprise and to the
concept of the nation, which it destroys, not voluntarily but indi-
rectly. It has no personal, private goal. It does not seek at all to
modify a given social or economic reality. Nevertheless, the break-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

206)

down of all the traditional particularisms occurs in economics ( as I
have already described ) . The result of the macroeconomic method,
to the degree that it proves itself efficient, will be to smoothe out
economic contradictions and to encompass within the artificial what
previously belonged to the natural. To the degree that macroeco-
nomics brings us to think in global and statistical terms, it leads to
the suppression of the causes of fractionation, for example, na-
tional frontiers.

The macroeconomic movement toward universalism will be
stronger the more it is reinforced by other, convergent factors. The
first step is the constitution of an intercontinental economy (which
technique, in any case, renders inevitable for other reasons). The
movement toward an intercontinental economy leads to a mass
economy.

A second characteristic of this “massification” is summarized in
Sartre's profound remark that “statistics can never be dialectics.”
There is an opposition (even a mutual exclusion) between statistics
and dialectics. They differ not merely in their mode of explaining
but also in their very mode of apprehending the world and action.
Statistics is necessarily a univocal method that expresses an aspect
of reality which is uncombinable with any other ( except other sta-
tistics ) and which cannot tolerate contradiction or evolutionary de-
velopment Statistics conceives evolution only in its formal aspect,
fastening on its strictly numerical element and proceeding dis-
cretely along the number continuum which it connects by extrapo-
lation. It sets up this linear formulation as the very essence of evolu-
tion. But it is incapable of grasping in any degree the internal and
continuous mechanism of evolution and the interplay of negations
involved in the affirmations. Statistics (and every technique) can
proceed only by affirmation, by exclusion of negations, refusal, and
destruction. It implies and prescribes a logical evolution, but not
a dialectic evolution. An economics founded on this method is of
necessity antidialectical; it is one of the profound betrayals of
Marxism on the part of modern Communism.

The movement of masses is likewise univocal and antidialectical.
(The interested reader is referred to Reiwald’s V Esprit des
masses . ) There is therefore a fixed connection between statistics
and the economics of mass society. But only opposition exists be-
tween statistics and organic society: the life of an organic, dialectic

The Technological Society (207

society cannot be completely enclosed in a technical operation like
statistics. Statistics even implies a mass society. Economically, this
technical operation presupposes that all members of society partici-
pate, privately and without concern for the whole, in the economic
system that techniques progressively elaborate. It is not only that
everyone is inescapably a consumer and producer and as such par-
ticipates in economic life. More important, all members of society
(not each member) are integrated in the mass into a pre-established
system. It is the facts of “all” and “pre-established,” required by the
use of technique, which involve the mass.

The “air is involved because technique yields results and de-
mands effort to such a degree that no individual can remain out-
side. But if technique demands the participation of everybody, this
means that the individual is reduced to a few essential functions
which make him a mass man. He remains “free,” but he can no
longer escape being a part of the mass. Technical expansion re-
quires the widest possible domain. In the near future not even the
whole earth may be sufficient.

The “pre-established” is involved because technique has its laws
and its motives (which I have already outlined) and fashions the
frameworks that are most auspicious to it We are experiencing this
in the modern world. Despite the preoccupations of humanist
economists, the economic mechanism tends to become stricter, ad-
hering to reality through its technique but, at the same time, ab-
sorbing it Men must enter into a pre-established framework. Tech-
nique cannot act otherwise than to “pre-establish” them too; if it
did not act so, it would not even exist itself.

We now see why the social complex, on contact with technique,
becomes mass, rather than a community or an organism. Technique
demands for its development malleable human ensembles. We
have already encountered this characteristic in our discussion of
technical expansion, and we find it again (in a very typical way) in
our study of the influence of technique on the economy. The econ-
omy, oriented in this direction, supposes mobile masses of men
available to needs which are simultaneously economic and tech-
nical.

Every undertaking involving a real community is necessarily anti-
technical on the economic level, not only because it is relatively
static but because of its particularism. If genuine communities were

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

208 )

to develop, no further economic technique would be possible, I am,
of course, speaking here of true communities, not of counterfeit
communities such as the corporations have represented since 1935.
We conclude, then, that the social form most auspicious to economic
technique is the mass. In this form, the calculus of probabilities and
planning both have free play.

The Antidemocratic Economy . All this being so, we touch upon
a new characteristic of economic technique: it is inevitably anti-,
democratic. At first glance, this comment sounds surprising, even
shocking. After all, technique does bring the masses of men into the
economic circuit, allowing them to participate in it as they never
did before. In the technical affirmation of the present, we can point
to the fact that we are witnessing the forward movement of social-
ism: management committees, autonomous administration of social
security, profit sharing, workers’ councils (which exist not only in
the Soviet Union) , and the achievement of recognized status by the
labor unions, which thus can play a positive (not merely a revolu-
tionary) role.

How, under these circumstances, is it possible to speak of the
technical economy as antidemocratic? In reply, it would be easy to
show that all these different kinds of "progress” become feasible
only to the degree that men are subjected in advance to the action
of technique. The opposition men manifest to this slavery (and it
is a kind of slavery ) is merely superficial, a matter of self-interest,
and is not due to any basic revolutionary orientation. Men are un-
able to exert genuine influence on the direction of the economy.
They can change certain modalities of wages. They can alter the
direction of enterprise and intervene in certain economic forms to
compensate for certain mechanical drawbacks; and they can give
opinions on fabrication, procedures, and financial methods. None
of these is negligible and I have no desire to minimize their impor-
tance. But they do not add up to economic democracy.

Collective ownership of the means of production ( from the point
of view of nationalization, collectivization, or state socialism ) is an
abstraction, an even greater abstraction than political democracy.
We well know to what degree of abstraction political democracy
has been pushed and how little the vote of the citizens actually
counts despite all the talk about “popular sovereignty.** The means

The Technological Society (209

of production arc said to be the property of the people. But can the
people do with them what they wish? Can they actually nominate
their leaders? These are the real questions. If the people directly
concerned in some business affair (for example, the workers in an
industrial plant) were to decide to exploit the plant in some other
way, or not to exploit it at all, or even to destroy the machinery,
would anyone listen to them? If no one listened, under the pretext
that the decisions in question were senseless, the real reason would
be that there are criteria superior to the popular will according to
which popular will is judged. Popular will can only express itself
within the limits that technical necessities have fixed in advance.
Can the people select engineers? Or accountants, or organizers?
Can they pass judgment about methods of work? If they could, it
would amount to the system (which has actually been attempted)
in which judges are elected by the governed, tax collectors by the
taxpayers, generals by the privates. Such a system would represent
the only truly democratic method. Why is the democratic method
not applied in the areas cited, whereas we do elect politicians. For
the simple reason that the functions of judge, general, and engineer
are considered to be functions of technicians, but the politician is
deemed to be a nontechnical functionary: good for everything,
good for nothing.

The Russian and French Revolutions introduced popular elec-
tion of judges and generals: this was consistent with their con-
cept of democracy. But the results were so disastrous that it was
soon necessary to repeal this procedure.

Technique is the boundary of democracy. What technique wins,
democracy loses. If we had engineers who were popular with the
workers, they would be ignorant of machinery. In our time, tech-
nique is the court of last appeal. The worker is master neither of
his factory nor of his bosses.

The democracy of popular "control" is purely formal. The situa-
tion in this respect is the same in all representative democracies in
which all things technical are taken out of the control of the elec-
tors, who must thenceforth repose their faith in an ideology of
political function superior to all others and encompassing every
human activity. By its intermediacy, the elector would still be
master of his destiny. Unfortunately, when the politician intervenes

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

210 )

to advance the cause of his constituents, he succeeds only in dis-
turbing the proper functioning of technique, in making everyone
discontented, and ultimately in losing his powers.

Are we, then, to believe today that by some secret alchemy the
workers, who hold title to a purely abstract property, really inter-
vene in the economic game? Were it really so, it could only be on
condition that they had to do with an extraordinarily flexible, not
to say slovenly, economy. It would certainly be nontechnical. If
such an economy were even conceivable, it would be a noncapital-
ist liberalism, that is to say, anarchy.

When the economy becomes exact and technical, it cannot toler-
ate the intervention of the working man’s desires. Certainly, there is
such a thing as benevolent and rational regulation of labor, human
industrial relations, hygiene, and so forth. But this is the internal
regulation that a good technique supposes and requires. The only
possibility of obtaining a high, continuous, and profitable produc-
tivity is by taking adequate account not only of immediate, bare
yield but also of the conservation of human material, which also
represents a kind of capital. At present the working man’s wishes
happen to coincide well with the imperatives of a rather exact and
profound technique. This is the only reason his wishes are taken
into account. The real function, then, of the worker’s desires is to
advance and improve technique, and not at all to enhance his free-
dom. This fact has a political parallel: in elections under authori-
tarian regimes, ballots may be cast only for the regime. Although
the authority of the government is thereby increased, the elector
draws material advantages from his vote, for the government,
officially relying on the people, will commit itself to great efforts in
their behalf.

There can be no doubt that this kind of democratization leads to
a certain improvement in the lot of the people. But it is an improve-
ment brought about not by the people themselves, who are mere
servitors, but by technique, to the degree and according to the con-
ception of life dictated by technique.

It is possible to envisage the democratic effect of technique in
another perspective, that of consumption. It is currently argued
that technique eliminates social privileges and suppresses pre-
existing social distinctions (although we must recognize that it
establishes certain others in their stead). The Italian economist

The Technological Society (211

Bertolino gives a good example of this argument in his study of
standardization. Standardization produces certain democratic ef-
fects, according to this economist, for two reasons. First, it reduces
prices; consequently consumption is increased, welfare is more
widely distributed, and living standards are equalized Second, it
reduces the types of available merchandise; there is less diversity
on the market and choice is limited. These two factors tend toward
democratic equalization. The search for what is “distinctive,” which
is based on a diversity of economic powers, is rendered impossible.
Hence, technique should operate in the direction of democracy.

This argument represents exactly the same attitude as that of a
Henry Ford driven by democratic sentiment to mass-produce auto-
mobiles so that everyone might benefit from this luxury article.
But the mass production of automobiles required the employment
of tens of thousands of workers on the assembly line. Bertolino
passes very lightly over the disadvantages thus occasioned, but
we must pay close attention to them. For example, there is the
danger of unemployment. In case of substantial unemployment,
there is no increase in the public welfare even though prices de-
cline. Bertolino s argument does not seem to me to be decisive.

No more decisive is the argument that technique produces social
equality. To argue, as Mumford does, that social equality exists be-
cause the poor man’s electric light is identical with the rich man's,
whereas in the middle ages an enormous difference existed be-
tween a pitch pine torch and a luxurious candle, is to risk proving
the exact opposite of what was intended. The life of the lord of the
manor was in many ways closer to that of a serf than the life of a
modem industrialist is to that of a worker. The serf and the lord
shared the same nourishment and the same discomfort. There is
certainly at least as much difference between the poor man's
cheap radio and the rich mans Telef unken, or between a motor
scooter and a Chrysler, as between the pine torch and the candle.
We could adduce an endless number of such comparisons.

The question may be asked: what is the price we must pay for
Standardization? Bertolino indicates this price very clearly. In
the first place, it is essential that cost reduction not be expressed in
wage reduction or unemployment. The state must intervene to see
to this. In the second place, cost reduction must be translated into
reduction in sales price. The state must enforce obligatory reduc-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

»1Z)

lions in sales prices. In the third place, standardization must be
applied in its totality; it must not be merely of limited effect It
must be applied to a whole industry, and if the industry is suffi-
ciently important this will inevitably lead to the standardization of
related and complementary industries. Here again the state must
intervene with either persuasive or coercive measures.

It is already clear that standardization, as a “democratic* effect,
implies extremely authoritative state action, extensive controls, a
more and more forced centralization, and a pronouncedly undemo-
cratic state of mind. Moreover, one cannot fail to be somewhat sur-
prised to learn that the reduction of “types’* is a democratic process.
Bertolino says that this reduction leads sometimes to a single type
and, one must suppose, the consequent nullification of choice. But
until now it has seemed that the very essence of democracy was
precisely the choice among several solutions, several types, several
doctrines, and that, moreover, this choice was left freely to the
people. The exercise of democracy was the exercise of choice.
Where there is no longer any choice, dictatorship exists.

But we must analyze this notion of choice further. We often say:
“It is not democratic that certain persons are excluded by poverty
from certain blessings, which deprives them of any possibility of
choice. If we extend well-being by standardization, we will im-
prove the democratic conditions of the poor.** Unfortunately, this
is not the case. If we admit the fact ( which is certainly true ) that
the absence of choice occasioned by poverty is antidemocratic, it is
not by removing the more or less great freedom of choice — which
the majority still possess — that we will have democracy. In all coun-
tries the majority still have some choice, and to take this away from
them is to consecrate the opposite of democracy. Bertolino is aware
of this: he attempts to compensate for his risky assertion in two
ways. First, he tells us that standardization must be accompanied
by inquiry into human tastes and desires, a procedure which will
reintroduce personal choice within standardization, so to speak.
The proposal appears to be completely utopian. Standardization
implies a certain investment of funds over long periods. But, clearly,
these investments will never be seriously questioned just because
the public taste changes. Furthermore, technical development fol-
lows its own proper laws, not the tastes of the public. It was not the
public which demanded air travel and television. Technical prog-

The Technological Society ( * 1 3

ress created these things, and they were technically diffused and
imposed on the public. The mechanism of standardization is identi-
cal with that of every technique.

Second, Bertolino supposes standardization to be democratic in-
sofar as it represents the conviction of the individuals who accept
it. It is not sufficient that it be egalitarian in fact, It must be accom-
panied by the popular consciousness that an egalitarian situation
and a more complete equality are being realized through its agency
and that the people are thus making progress toward a social de-
mocracy. If a regime is sanctioned by the people, it can indeed be
maintained that it is democratic. But, of course, that is precisely
what Hitler said of his regime. We must not lose sight of the fact
that today popular support can be secured with great ease by
means of certain precise techniques. But this point does not matter
much here. What is important is the fact that Bertolino’s desire to
show at any price that technique is democratic leads to a strange
conception of democracy. We may best illustrate this by means of
two quotations: "Democracy is the adhesion of each citizen individ-
ually to the opinion of the majority. This majority opinion becomes
an irrefragable and indisputable line of conduct. The individual
is duty bound to look upon the line (economic or political) dictated
by the majority as the best for society. The individual becomes
democratic in this way, . . "Democracy consists in the practice
of regarding and using certain goods in a common way. Democracy
supposes that the individual transcends himself in order to realize
social values with the others, and in the same way as the others."

These textual citations recall some strange speeches we have
heard. The transition of the majority to a condition of unanimity
through the adhesion of the individual, who renounces his in-
dividuality to meld with the collectivity, is precisely the transition
from democracy to dictatorship. It is true that standardization
demands this kind of democracy and that it could not be reconciled
with any other democratic form. But democracy in this case is
only a name superimposed on the reality of dictatorship. Whatever
aspects of economic technique we examine, we always find this
opposition between technique and democracy.

The conflict between technique and democracy appears clearly
in Soviet planning. The Soviets maintain that the Five-Year Plan
( in its second phase ) moves from the base to the summit, and that

214) technique and economy

the decision of the base is decisive. However, the following ques-
tion cannot be avoided: since technicians establish both norms and
details, how is it possible to reconcile production directives, which
originate at the summit, with the desires of the workers* cells at
the base? Soviet studies maintain that this antinomy can be re-
solved by so-called “production conferences.** But what we wit-
ness in fact is a technical centralization of wages and norms. Par-
ticularly instructive and worthy of note is the history of the plan
of 1955. Khrushchev, in denouncing the errors of Stalin, declared
that until then planning had been “bureaucratic,** “authoritarian,**
“based on mere statistics** — and, moreover, that the plan of 1950
had been fulfilled by only 30 per cent of enterprises. He said that it
was necessary to democratize the plan because the “active partici-
pation of the workers was indispensable. . . .** What, in fact, has
been the result of Khrushchev*s good intentions? (1) The workers
have been given latitude to increase the goals set by the plan, but
not to decrease them; (2) the workers have had freedom to study
ways and means to obtain maximum productivity; (3) a propa-
ganda campaign for increasing productivity has been launched
which has turned out to be the most intensive since the original
introduction of five-year plans. In this campaign the slogan is re-
peated ceaselessly: “The State Plan is the law for every enterprise.**
Democratic freedom is clearly discernible in all this!

The decisive point in the development of these “production con-
ferences*’ is the necessity of technical progress, which may not be
held back by the desires of the workers. 3 A workers* committee can-
not regulate the complexity of technical problems. Moreover, a
view of the whole (which the worker certainly cannot have) is
necessary in order to unify wages and norms on the plane of the
macroeconomy. Without this, social inequality and economic dis-
equilibration would be inevitable. Along the same line, a stringent
control of production tempos and distribution of revenues is man-
datory — whatever the efficiency of the plan.

All this leads, both for the elaboration of the plan and for its
execution, to the primacy of technical demands imposed authorita-
tively on all democratic orientations. All that is demanded of the
man who carries out the plan is that he adapt himself to its norms

See Kerblay's Les Normes dans rSconomie sovietique.

The Technological Society ( 2 1 5

and that he find a stimulus to his productivity in the overfulfill-
ment of these norms. All that can be conceded to him is sufficient
time to adapt himself to the norms. To save face, there is endless
talk about psychological climate, environment, and socialist rivalry.
(We shall study this point in detail in the last chapter.) It suffices,
for the present, to make the following comparison: a soldier who
takes part in an attack because he is forced to do so and a soldier
who is moved by patriotic enthusiasm do not share the same psy-
chological climate. But both bring themselves to kill in the same
way. As far as efficiency and collective results are concerned, psy-
chological methods have been discovered and elaborated which
give the first soldier a belligerence equivalent to the patriotic ardor
of the second. Democracy has nothing to do with the matter.

Democracy did not enter either into the theorem ( conceded by
the majority of economists ) that full employment, which is neces-
sary to the sound development of economic technique, demands an
authoritarian method of worker placement. As Fourastie indicates,
technique implies a transformation that makes “production due to
human labor the very foundation of social progress; so that no social
progress can occur without transference of the working popula-
tion.” But where is the democratic element in displacing the
human being from his familiar surroundings, separating him from
his traditions and from his human and geographic milieu? I know
that the uprooting of human beings counts for little in respect to
economic law and that where economic necessity exists (for ex-
ample, in the struggle against unemployment) all other human
needs are unimportant and must vanish. I am, moreover, cognizant
of the seeming truth that where there is nothing to eat there is no
longer a stable milieu. This new version of the primum vivere in a
materialist form is only an apparent truth. But even if it were
true, we would have to say then that the human being is con-
strained by economic necessity, and this is the exact opposite of
democracy.

This method presupposes the destruction of our social structures
and, in reality, deprives a civilization of any chance to give itself
form. The primary element in any civilization is a stable relation
between man and his environment. When man becomes the play-
thing of abstract decisions, a civilization can no longer be created.
Here we have, on the economic plane, the same effect of technique

2 1 6 ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

which we previously studied in a more general way. Man indeed
participates in the economy, but technique causes him to participate
not as a man but as a thing.

It is in the realm of economic technique that we experience most
dearly the great and dramatic process of modern times, in which
both chance and natural laws are transformed into decisions of
accountants, rules of planning, and decrees of the state. It is exactly
at this point that technique begins to be concerned with natural
fact — with the fact of total human behavior, with man's spontane-
ous obedience to so-called sociological currents, with his conformity
to certain general types, with his responses ( almost everywhere the
same) to given stimuli. Whether the question is one of understand-
ing public opinion, or of stochastics, or of statistics as a whole, the
technical starting point is always the human behavior of the major-
ity. From this behavior, technique draws a number of consequences
and modes of action, erecting on it the system into which it will
necessarily insert itself. Moreover, it makes this behavior obliga-
tory. It allows certain minor modifications (we shall not concern
ourselves with the problem of aberrants), but its real problem is to
transform a law spontaneously obeyed into a law made con-
sciously obligatory. In no other domain is this procedure of tech-
nique as clear-cut as in the present forward movement of the econ-
omy. The effects of technique in other areas are not as evident; for
example, the effects of "human techniques" such as propaganda
have not yet been rendered obligatory to the same degree as tech-
nique in the economic field.

Thus, economic techniques, despite their still rudimentary na-
ture (often more pronounced in this respect than mechanical, psy-
chological, or judicial techniques), nevertheless express better than
any others the transition, implied by every technique, from the
natural to the artificial. It is not that economic techniques are better
developed than the others, but that here, more than elsewhere, the
artificial evolves from the natural.

Every technique tends, more or less, to constrain nature; accord-
ingly, the artificial is opposed to the natural. There is a struggle,
but whether it be expressed in terms of man against nature or in
terms of the conflict of systems, the desideratum is a mastery that
excludes, eliminates, and replaces the natural Thus, for example,

The Technological Society (217

the directed and planned economy replaces liberalism. But we
note in this domain another more subtle, integrative movement.
Economic technique tends less to eliminate the natural than to inte-
grate it. (In this sense it approaches the mode of action of physical
techniques. And Francois Perroux’s criticism of planning, relative
to its "lack of rationality,’* rests on the fact that planning suppresses
the free mechanism of the economy instead of adhering to it and
interpreting it. The latter, for Perroux, should be the ideal of eco-
nomictechnique.)

But when the natural is integrated, it ceases to be natural. It be-
comes part of the technical ensemble. It is an element of the mecha-
nism, an element which must play its role, and no more. The role
may be plotted in advance. Even when, as in the case of servo-
mechanisms, the improvement of technique introduces unforeseen
elements and leaves a large part of the operation in the realm of
the natural, it is nonetheless integrated.

I will be asked whether there is anything evil in this integration.
I make no value judgments; I merely note that the human being
who acts on his own personal decisions, following what is in essence
a common tendency, a sociological current, acts freely, but that the
same tendency, once integrated into a system, becomes essen-
tially and expressly obligatory.

It might be asked whether man had not lost his freedom even be-
fore this integration, since he was obeying an already existing al-
though hidden imperative, now revealed by modem techniques.
Is man more constrained than formerly merely because this impera-
tive is recognized and written down in textbooks? This does not
seem clearly evident. Even without reference to the danger rep-
resented by monopoly of the secrets of our actions on the part of a
few ( and it is always the few who succeed in gaining control of the
instruments of technique), the simple act of writing it down
changes human obligation. In the sociological and economic world,
the result is comparable to the long- recognized transition from
morals to law. There, too, sanctions appear to have been decisive.
What is the sanction against violating the moral law, or refusing
to follow a sociological tendency, or disobeying natural economic
law? And what is the sanction against a challenge of the law of the
state and the plan? Is not the difference clear? What is at stake
here is all of mans liberty, the liberty to take chances, even to

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

2l8 )

gamble with the death penalty* We see in this loss of liberty the
downward path into which technique is leading us.

Economic Man

Let us not overdramatize; it is not the goal of the technical move-
ment to drive men to the death penalty. Happily, its goal is more
subtle. The death penalty is only a straw, the existence of which
testifies to the fact that technique is in a transitory phase.

The transformation of natural law into technical law is accom-
panied by the shaping of the human being; he is adapted and made
to harmonize with what is to be. Social individualism corresponded
to economic liberalism. The economic man corresponds to the
planned economy.

I am aware that economic man was a creation of the liberal
period and the first economic doctrinaires, but the question is to
understand the problem. The term economic man generally re-
ferred to a purely theoretical concept. For the liberals, economic
man was an abstraction created to satisfy the demands of economic
inquiry. The conception was a working hypothesis. It was framed
by omitting certain human characteristics, which man undeniably
possesses in order to reduce him to his economic aspect of producer
and consumer. The abstraction corresponded to a complete anthro-
pology, current at the beginning of the nineteenth century, which
can only be characterized as dichotomous.

This conception of man has had a changing history. The studies
of Jean Merigot on economic man undertook to demonstrate that,
in terms of the doctrine and economic theory of the present, this
abstract simplification is no longer admissible, for two reasons.
First, the human being is a whole and this whole changes in the
very act of being analyzed; and second, economic phenomena act
and react correlatively to the totality of the human being. Conse-
quently, Merigot asserts, it is impossible to be satisfied with this
one-sided view. But all this remains on a purely intellectual plane
and the “progress” he describes is to be found only in textbooks of
political economy. The great satisfaction manifested by certain au-
thors that the homo economicus is dead remains purely theoretical.

I should like for my part to note another set of developments.

The Technological Society (219

Technique, and especially economic technique, does not en-
counter man in textbooks but in the flesh. One of the facts which
seems to me to dominate the present epoch is that the further eco-
nomic technique develops, the more it makes real the abstract con-
ception of the economic man. What was merely hypothesis tends to
become reality incarnate. The human being is changing slowly un-
der the pressure of the economic milieu; he is in process of becom-
ing the uncomplicated being the liberal economist constructed. The
transition of the purely theoretical image to its incarnation is what
concerns us here. It is occurring at a time when the theoretical
economist is beginning to take account of the real complexity of
man, a complexity which, however, man is in process of losing (if
he has not already lost it altogether ) . The result is that the modern
economist still runs the risk of theorizing about an abstraction be-
cause he is speaking either of a man philosophically conceived
or of some historical and traditional image. He is not speaking of the
man of today, the man we do not dare to recognize because we can-
not bear to find in him our own faces or to meet in him the prefigur-
ing of our own destiny.

The economic man, that reduced schema of economic activity,
was formulated in the second half of the nineteenth century by a
twofold movement. The first was the absorption, to a greater and
greater extent, of the entire man in the economic network. The
second was the devaluation of all human activities and tendencies
other than the economic. Thence arose the validation of the pro-
ducing-consuming part of man, while all his other facets were grad-
ually erased. This reduction of man is the first movement to come
to completion under the reign of the triumphant bourgeoisie. It is
hardly necessary at this point, by way of explanation, to recall the
predominant importance that money assumed during this period.
Everything happened through its agency, in the economic and
social structure, in the business world, in private life. Nothing hap-
pened without money; everything happened by means of it. All
values were reduced to money values, not only by the theoreticians
but by practice. The only important human occupation seemed to
be to make money. And this became, in fact, the symbol of human
submission to economies, an internal submission more serious than
the external. For primitive man, hunting likewise represented eco-
nomic submission, but this submission was more a magical and

&10 ) TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

virile act. The bourgeois domination of the nineteenth century was a
rational domination. It excluded all romantic enthusiasm. It sought
not paradise but temporal power, and marveling at what had come
to pass, it took the newly discovered economic forces as its instru-
ments of choice. But to use these instruments meant submission to
them. The bourgeoisie itself submitted and compelled everyone
else to submit. The world was divided into two classes: those who
created the economy and amassed its rewards, and those who sub-
mitted to it and produced its riches. Both classes were possessed by
it. The bourgeoisie , in a two-pronged attack, constructed an eco-
nomic morality which exhausted the totality of its values and sub-
ordinated men to economic power. A new spiritual situation was
created that was ultimately destined to make the new bourgeois
morality collapse, leaving intact the primacy of the economic.

The bourgeois morality was and is primarily a morality of work
and of metier. Work purifies, ennobles; it is a virtue and a remedy.
Work is the only thing that makes life worthwhile; it replaces God
and the life of the spirit. More precisely, it identifies God with
work: success becomes a blessing. God expresses his satisfaction by
distributing money to those who have worked well Before this
first of all virtues, the others fade into obscurity. If laziness was
the mother of all the vices, work was the father of all the virtues.
This attitude was carried so far that bourgeois civilization neglected
every virtue but work.

It is understandable that for the adult bourgeois the only im-
portant thing became the exercise of a metier, and for the youth,
the choice of an occupation and preparation for it. A kind of eco-
nomic predestination was established in the great families. Human
destiny seemed to revolve about the making of money or the fail-
ure to make it. Such was, and is, the viewpoint of the bourgeois.

For the proletariat the result was alienation, which likewise rep-
resented the grip of the economic on the human being. In the pro-
letariat, we see human beings emptied of all human content and
real substance, and possessed by economic power. The proletarian
was alienated not only because he was the servant of the bourgeois
but because he became a stranger to the human condition, a sort of
automaton filled with economic machinery and worked by an eco-
nomic switch. But human nature cannot long tolerate such a condi-
tion. In creating it, the bourgeoisie signed the death warrant of its

The Technological Society (aai

own system. The spiritual situation of alienated man implies revo-
lution, and his subordination without hope demanded the creation
of the revolutionary myth. It might be thought that the primacy of
the economy over man (or, rather, the possession of man by the
economy) would have come into question. But unfortunately, the
real, not the idealized, proletarian has concentrated entirely on
ousting the bourgeoisie and making money. The proletarian instru-
ment for winning this revolution is the labor union. And the union
subordinates its members even more closely to the economic func-
tion in the process of satisfying their revolutionary will and ex-
hausting their will with regard to purely economic objects.

The bourgeois himself is losing ground, but his system and his
conception of the human being is gaining. For the proletariat, as
for the bourgeoisie , man is only a machine for production and
consumption. He is under obligation to produce. He is under the
same obligation to consume. He must absorb what the economy
offers him. Indeed, in the face of a historically unparalleled con-
sumption of goods, it is ridiculous to explain crises of overproduc-
tion as crises of underconsumption.

The counterpart of the necessary reduction of human life to
working is its reduction to gorging. If man does not already have
certain needs, they must be created. The important concern is not
the psychic and mental structure of the human being but the unin-
terrupted flow of any and all goods which invention allows the
economy to produce. Whence the measureless trituration of the
human soul, the true issue of which is propaganda. And propa-
ganda, reduced to advertising, relates happiness and a meaningful
life to consumption. He who has money is the slave of the money he
has. He who has it not is the slave of a mad desire to get it. The first
and great law is consumption. Nothing but this imperative has any
value in such a life.

This summary description enables us to grasp quickly the sub-
jective and incoherent way in which the human being tends to per-
mit himself to be reduced to the two closely related variables of
the economic man. All other dimensions are excluded in this ideal-
ized concept Money is the principal thing; culture, art, spirit, mo-
rality are jokes and are not to be taken seriously. On this point, there
is once again full agreement between the bourgeoisie and the Com-
munists.

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

222 )

The phenomenon we witness here is the birth in reality of the
economic man the classical economists postulated. Man is not essen-
tially homo economicus. But the concept is relatively simple; and
the pressure of economic events, greater than ever before, has
made it necessary to put man through this rolling-mill in order to
obtain the indispensable material substratum. The operation has
not always been easy. Sometimes the machine has gotten stuck.
The bourgeoisie did not succeed entirely in eliminating the life of
the spirit. In the working class, a true spiritual life developed about
the turn of the century. Literature with Rimbaud and painting
with Van Gogh were enormously attractive in comparison with the
rolling-mill. Man remained, if not whole, at least dissatisfied with
his castration, the more so as the promises which had been made
were not kept and economic crises continually endangered the
new blessings.

The second phase of this development was the attempt of the
human being to find Spiritual satisfaction within the economic
sphere itself. Karl Marx carried out the encircling maneuver, taking
over from the bourgeoisie and continuing its work. On the plane
of the human and of spiritual life, Marx was — in a deep and not
merely formal sense — a faithful representative of bourgeois
thought. He did not represent the official thought of the bour-
geoisie in the manner of Thiers or Guizot. But he did represent the
current thought of the average man, which ideologically was ma-
terialistic and in practice was even more so. Marx sought to make
a going concern of what, he was convinced, the bourgeoisie was in
the process of losing. To the spiritual force of the emergent prole-
tariat, he added economic force. He integrated the revolution, as
well as all life, into the economic world. He consecrated, theoreti-
cally and scientifically, the common sentiment of all the men of his
century and furnished it with the prestige of dialectic. Proudhon
and Bakunin had placed spiritual forces in rivalry with the eco-
nomic order. Against them, Marx upheld the bourgeois order of the
primacy of the economic, not, however, as a merely historical pri-
macy but as a primacy in human hearts. If economic conditions
are changed, men are changed. Marx made a success of the terrible
confiscation. The spiritual resources released from oppression were
to be put at the service of the oppressor, not, indeed, the bourgeois
oppressor but the economic one. (In my Presence au monde mod -

The Technological Society (223

erne I have studied in detail this mutation of the revolutionary
idea.)

The second prong of this double movement (the subordination
of men to economic power) did not apply to all men, only to those
who ventured to escape from the subjective creation represented
by the homo economicus. We have been studying how this con-
cept was slowly and circuitously brought into being by certain
modes of thought, social conditions, and doctrines. Its progress was
insidious and sometimes groping. But the individual still had cer-
tain possibilities of escaping it. The escape hole was narrow and
growing narrower. Sometimes escape was found only in dreams.
Poetry is useful to this end. Rostand, for example, faithfully served
to satisfy the homo economicus by giving him an illusion of the
spiritual. And Peguy taught us, not in his writings but in his life,
that the whole man was still possible. In proportion as the milieu
became more restrictive, the economic world approached comple-
tion. It became more and more difficult for anyone to do anything
except work in order to live. But for what? Exclusively for consump-
tion. Leisure was granted to man, but only the leisure of the con-
sumer. Man’s primordial functions of creating, praying, judging
disappeared in the rising tide of material goods. Conditions were
at last ripe for bringing off the decisive operation. Technique com-
pleted its movement of encirclement and put the finishing touch to
the economic man, in accordance with its unchanging procedure
of transforming what is into what ought to be and making out of
mere gropings an irrefutable and simple line. Technique was no
longer a spontaneous movement; it was a concerted action to shape
the economic man it needed.

In order for economic technique (for example, planning) to
succeed, men had to satisfy its requirements. There is no such
thing as technique by and in itself. In its irresistible forward prog-
ress, it forced the human individual, without whom it is nothing,
to accompany it. For this reason economic man, a working hypoth-
esis when economics was only a doctrine, was forced to become
reality when reality became technical. This mutation (which had
been prepared in the manner we have studied ) was not completely
a creation of technique, but technique found in it what it required.
Stalin, as well as the liberal economists, considered man as “capi-
tal.” And Jacques Aventur has shown that, from the technical

TECHNIQUE and economy

***)

point of view, man must be appraised as capital. To recoil before
this conception is merely a sentimental reaction. No efficiency is
possible for economic technique in the absence of exact calculation
of average human production costs and human profit-making abil-
ity. Man « capital, and he must become perfectly adapted to this
role. The actions proposed by technique to educate man for this
role fall into two distinct categories. The first is essentially economic
and does not lead to immediate and direct action on human beings.
The second, however, implies the combination of various special
techniques and their intervention into human life.

In the first category is found the union of the two concepts, pro-
ducer and consumer. Although traditionally a distinction was made
between them, planning brings them together. It is true that man is
thereby restored to a certain unity, but the new reality takes in
everything. All human functions are mobilized in the “production-
consumption” complex. This restoration of unity is, in a certain
sense, a step forward, for it holds that production and consumption
are perfectly adapted to each other and that two correlative and
interdependent functions may no longer be separated, as in liberal
capitalism. But what in one sense restores unity represents in an-
other a circumscribing of the whole human being. To be in tech-
nical equilibrium, man cannot live by any but the technical reality,
and he cannot escape from the social aspect of things which tech-
nique designs for him. And the more his needs are accounted for,
the more he is integrated into the technical matrix. It may seem
paradoxical to hold that man becomes technicized as his needs are
respected. But technique itself teaches him that needs are not in-
dividual, or, put more exactly, that individual needs are negligible.
What technique envisages as needs is social needs as revealed by
statistic*. Technique can and will take into consideration only
man s social requirements. Of course no one denies the existence
of individual needs. But when all human forces are attracted by
the labor of satisfying social needs, when these forces include edu-
cation, orientation, proper environment, and hygiene, when at the
same time the goods necessary to the satisfaction of social needs
are numerous and easy to come by while those satisfying individ-
ual needs are rare and hard to find, it is pure utopian abstraction to
say that nothing prevents the existence of individual needs. On the
contrary, human nature does. Technique entails socialization of

The Technological Society (225

needs because it takes only social needs into account. This explains
why technical research is more and more compelled to act on the
basis of objective criteria of value. The measure of value, which has
been made objective, better integrates man into his economic con-
dition. A hierarchy can better be established when precise rules
are specified which are based on the economic value of the human
being.

A second category of technical actions that are addressed di-
rectly to man and modify him attests strongly to what has just been
said. It is necessary to act upon the individual in his capacity of
producer so as to make him contribute his small share in carrying
out the plan — that part of the operation, negligible in itself but in-
dispensable to the whole, which technique has assigned to him. The
operations of hundreds of workers depend with mathematical rigor
on the work done by a single individual. The joint responsibility of
all the workers subject to the same technique is rigorous. In the
name of this common responsibility, it is binding on every worker
to execute his task strictly with the kind of enthusiasm that calls for
personal devotion. The technical means for compelling this devo-
tion are well known, from human-relations techniques to the differ-
ent kinds of propaganda: shock brigades, Stakhanovism, socialist
rivalry, and so on. The study of these technical means lies outside
our study of the economic sphere. But it may be noted in passing
that they are closely connected with the technique of economics,
which cannot be realized without them.

It is likewise possible to exert pressure upon the individual in
his capacity of consumer. Roughly speaking, the problem here
is to modify human needs in accordance with the requirements of
planning. The constraints that operate on man as consumer are not
as sharp and brutal as those which operate on him as producer. As I
have shown, the “spontaneous* creation of social needs among al-
most all men in our time justifies the application of economic tech-
nique. But although planning must satisfy both needs and the tech-
nical data, it is not at all certain that the correspondence between
the two will be perfect What is required then is a small adjust-
ment. After all, only social needs are in question here; there is small
cause for us individualists to become upset. A sociological current
is to be modified, but not the conscience of the individual. More-
over, should not the means to this end reassure us? The more tech-

TECHNIQUE AND ECONOMY

226)

niques develop, the more unobtrusive they become. The use of the
police, or even more radical means such as famine, as in the first
years of the Soviet Union, shows a certain technical deficiency and
a want of tact

The necessary adjustments are effected through price manipu-
lation and public relations. (Psychoanalysis has shown the malle-
ability of needs under the influence of public relations. ) The same
influences are here at work on social needs as were operative in the
liberal economy. The only difference lies in the orientation of these
means and in the person who uses them. Scientific, willed utiliza-
tion systematically and definitely creates the economic man, who
ultimately comes to be nothing more than the 4< needs-yield com-
plex.” But the human being no longer feels any particular distress
at this, because the almost magical results of economic technique
come from perfect adjustment. The man who suffered under capi-
talism because of its spasmodic fits and starts and its spiritual un-
satisfactoriness, the individuals who suffered under a Communist
regime because of fear and restraint, find themselves released from
suffering by this adaptation, when in either regime technique as-
sumes primacy. In both situations, mans spiritual needs are par-
tially gratified by propaganda and, in both, technique demands
active participation of him. It even requires of him that he become
intelligent, the better to serve the organization and the machine.
The stage in which the human being was a mere slave of the me-
chanical tyrant has been passed. When man himself becomes a
machine, he attains to the marvelous freedom of unconsciousness,
the freedom of the machine itself. A spiritual and moral life is re-
quired of him because the machine has need of such a life: no
technique is possible with amoral and asocial men, Man feels him-
self to be responsible, but he is not. He does not feel himself an ob-
ject, but he is. He has been so well assimilated to the economic
world, so well adjusted to it by being reduced to the homo economic
cus , in short, so well conditioned, that the appearance of personal
life becomes for him the reality of personal life.

Thus, the development of economic techniques does not formally
destroy the spiritual, but rather subordinates it to the realization of
the Great Design. Henceforth, there is no more need for the hy-
pothesis of the economic man. The whole of man's life has be-
come a function of economic technique. In its realization, technique

The Technological Society (227

itself has far transcended the timid hypotheses of the classical
economists. Man knows himself to be more and more free, for
technique has eliminated all natural forces and in this way has
given him the sense of being master of his fate. The new man being
created before our very eyes, correctly tailored to enter into the
artificial paradise, the detailed and necessary product of the means
which he ordains for himself — that man is I.

CHAPTER

M

TECHNIQUE
AND THE
STATE

The ponderous economic organization described in the preceding
chapter requires the formation of a political technique. Nothing
else could administer the decisions of economic policy. T am not
speaking here merely of economic planning, to which the state
alone can give a direction and a foundation. The whole of eco-
nomic technique is confronted by the following dilemma: either it
receives from the state that sanction which alone can render it
efficacious, or it must remain a mere abstraction, an offer without
a taker. But who believes that such a noble edifice can remain an
abstraction? There is, in any case, one agency which asks nothing
better than to intervene: the state. But then the state itself will be-
come technique.

The Technological Society

( 22 9

The State’s Encounters with Technique

Ancient Techniques. The state has always exploited techniques to
a greater or lesser degree. This is not new. But the techniques of
the state, corresponding to the limited functions of the state, were
hitherto encountered only in limited domains. Let us consider
briefly the techniques employed by the state on the eve of the
French Revolution.

There was, first of all, a military technique. This technique rep-
resented even then a very advanced system. It had undergone a
great development in many respects and it involved a loosening of
the traditional rigidities. There had been much improvement, for
example, in the art of fortification and, above all, in tactics. Logis-
tics, recruitment, and military hospitals had all experienced im-
provement, In my Memoire sur le recrutement , I have shown that
the study of Le Tellier and Louvois on this subject fails because
they confuse civil and military administration.

In logistics and related fields, France had experienced the high-
est development. Tactics made an extraordinary leap forward in
the eighteenth century and became a technique of extreme preci-
sion under Frederick the Great, According to Frederick's concep-
tion, battles were to be won through the execution of certain
movements, with a minimum of combat and with minimal use of
soldiers. Skill in position and movement would necessarily lead
the enemy to surrender. According to Guglielmo Ferrero, economy
of means and an almost guaranteed success were characteristics
of this technique — already far advanced.

The French Revolution, however, brought about a decisive re-
gression in tactical technique through its introduction of popular
armies and mass levies of soldiers. With the Revolution, tactics
sank little by little into obscurity. Military strategy and its related
services developed and gave rise to innumerable techniques; but
tactical science remained inert. Thus, in modern wars enormous
masses of human and material means are employed, and, more
often than not, are sacrificed to a dubious outcome. To offset this,
medical and supply services have at their disposal a vast apparatus

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

230)

that operates with great efficiency as a result of technical improve-
ments. (The American Army in 1944 was the most remarkable
example of this.) Epidemics, for instance — hitherto the universal
accompaniment of war — claimed no victims in the last two wars
(with the exception of the year 1918-19). Military technique,
taken as a whole and in its various forms, represents a very old
technique which at the present is executed entirely by the state
and devised by its employees.

A financial technique , corresponding to the financial function,
had likewise evolved and by the time of the Revolution was al-
ready of great age and comparatively highly developed. In fact, of
all techniques, financial technique had evolved most rapidly; it had
already arrived at a stage at which no further improvement was
thought necessary. Here, too, the state was the prime mover.
Philip IV had initiated a number of financial techniques which
were completed between the fourteenth and the sixteenth centuries.
Among Philip's innovations were double-entry bookkeeping, budg-
etary management and forecasting, separation of the services of
the Budget and the Treasury, and the theory of loan management.

The state, however, did not play an exclusive role in matters re-
lating to financial techniques. There were financiers who were also
merchants and who used for their own ends a merchandising tech-
nique they helped to develop. But although the role of the state
was not exclusive, it was decisive: it was in connection with the
state that these techniques reached their apex. After the progress
that had already been made, the system seemed scarcely suscepti-
ble of further development. Napoleon's reforms were limited to
certain trivial alterations and to restoring certain features which
had fallen into disorder. By and large, financial technique remainod
what it had been. It is true that its objects (taxes) and its organs
(administrations) were profoundly perturbed, but these two ele-
ments did not, properly speaking, represent financial technique,
and the technique itself continued to give satisfaction up to the
beginning of the present century, when a rational and general
systematization began to penetrate this domain. But the technique
itself was still so well articulated that it was and is very difficult to
change. Everyone recognizes that it no longer squares with other
techniques and that its influence is retardatory. But its very power
of resistance shows the excellence of its mechanism. There are two

The Technological Society (231

necessary conditions for the initiation of a real change; the integra-
tion of the finances into the general economy, and the transforma-
tion of the concept of public finance. These are the problems that
confront us at the moment

The functioning of justice very rapidly produced a judicial
technique, less certain and rigid than the financial technique be-
cause ideological and human factors have always played an im-
portant role in it. For this reason, judicial technique was never
completely able to take over the law as a whole. A certain conflict
continued, after the Roman era, between justice and technique and,
in the period under consideration, this conflict seems to have be-
come fixed. I shall treat this problem in all its complexity later on.

An administrative technique corresponded to the administrative
function. But this technique was much less clearly defined than
the others I have enumerated. As in the relation between law and
judicial technique, administrative technique represented an un-
certain area because of the human element. The state never pos-
sessed the means, during the course of history, to convert its wishes
into techniques, that is, to make them efficient. Louis XIV assumed
the tone of an absolute monarch, but he did not possess the practical
means to make his subjects obey his will in any well defined way.
He had neither police nor administrative cadres. All he could do
was coerce a few persons and make examples of them. However,
terror is only exceptionally a technical means. The whole French
administrative system was based on mere empiricism. Napoleon
was able to systematize the administration in a rational way and to
create a technical organ. But there were still no means for securing
efficient action. It is difficult to see how there could have been, in
the absence of both material substratum and method. A very simple
example of the material substratum is the means of communication.
It was scarcely possible to have a technicized administration when
orders from the central administration in Paris took at least eight
days to reach Marseille. Every kind of local latitude was encour-
aged by such delay. As to method, it was not known how the ad-
ministration ought to act with respect to the persons administered.
Only constraint by force was recognized, and even that was merely
empirical. Likewise, the choice of the persons upon whom con-
straint was to operate was not made with any rational rigor.

Much more technical rules of organization and administrative

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

332)

action began to appear toward the end of the nineteenth century;
they formed the content of administrative law. The concepts of
public function, of centralization and decentralization, and so on,
began to assume more precise outlines. But these concepts still
represented a mere theory. Out of it, however, emerged the tech-
nical improvements necessitated by the very existence of great
masses of people. But the actions dictated by this theory still
offered a very great latitude of choice. There was no certainty as
to which method was really the most efficient because experimenta-
tion was possible only on a very limited scale. In this theoretic
domain, all choices and all arguments were still possible. Ad-
ministrative law was still not radically and indisputably the best
system. It may be said, therefore, that at the beginning of the
twentieth century administrative technique did not yet exist.

Finally, the state fulfilled a political function, a function of
general direction into which all the others were combined and
which addressed itself to foreign as well as to domestic affairs.
But on the eve of the Revolution this political function was in its
infancy. There was no political technique of any sort; "secret di-
plomacy" could not possibly have been called a technique. Policy
was delivered over to the whims of a Minister of the Interior, or an
ambassador, or a Chamber of Deputies, or a dictator. There was
nothing but flair, personal ability, special interest, routine. Political
theories never gave rise to any realistic practical application, only
to bad copies of historical situations and to political circumstances
which had to be endured with fortitude. In spite of the frequent
mention of Machiavelli’s Prince, the truth is that until the beginning
of the twentieth century no one ever drew the technical conse-
quences of that work. What existed, then, was a kind of original
chaos in which the roan of genius always outclassed his adversar-
ies because they never had at their disposal a technique which
sufficed to redress the balance. The beginnings of a political
technique had to await the appearance of Lenin. And even Lenin's
political technique in many respects had to be based on certain
other techniques which he did not hav * M his disposal; for example,
techniques for obtaining scientific knowledge of the masses and
the modes of action applicable to them, techniques of temporal
and spatial co-ordination, techniques of strategy, and social tech-

The Technological Society ( 2 33

niques on a global scale. All these are only today in the process of
being elaborated.

The most important technical activity of the state remained
completely empirical until the beginning of the twentieth century.
Nevertheless, the state did press into service a certain number of
other techniques which we have already examined. However, the
techniques used by the state had one characteristic in common:
all of them were limited both in their objects and in their means.
They referred to particular questions and did not extend beyond
the framework of the particularities. Moreover, they were merely
co-ordinated and were only sporadically applied. Nevertheless,
there were, in the immense field of state activity, certain technicized
points which offered some degree of permanence. Whatever real
relation these sustained to one another was effected by the organism
common to them all, the state.

New Techniques . The state was fated sooner or later to come into
contact with other methods. Since the end of the eighteenth century
it has gradually encountered all techniques and finally the technical
phenomenon itself. From the political, social, and human points of
view, this conjunction of state and technique is by far the most
important phenomenon of history. It is astonishing to note that no
one, to the best of my knowledge, has emphasized this fact It is
likewise astonishing that we still apply ourselves to the study of
political theories or parties which no longer possess anything but
episodic importance, yet we bypass the technical fact which ex-
plains the totality of modern political events, and which indicates
the general line our society has taken much more surely than some
painful revival of Marx ( who was not acquainted with the techni-
cal fact) or some spiritualistic theory. These so-called “explana-
tions” are mere utopias and flourish only as utopias flourish.

This ignorance of the technical phenomenon springs perhaps from
an obdurate traditionalism which causes us always to live in the
past and explain the present without understanding it. Thereby,
our grasp of social events lags by half a century. Or it may spring
from an unconscious repression. We simply will not to see whatever
is too difficult for us to bear or whatever bulks too large for our
understanding. However the case may be, it is striking to note
that such political thinkers as Max Glass interpret the facts of the

TECHNIQUE AND TIC STATE

234 )

present by means of concepts that date from the turn of the
century. At best, they talk about “technical barbarism" without
taking into account that such terms do not represent anything
real and that the term barbarism in this domain can only come out
of the decadent society of 1900. If one quits this kind of tradi-
tionalism, one falls straightway into an extravagant metaphysic,
such as that of the Jesuit Father Teillard de Chardin, which has no
more substance.

We take it, then, that in the present century the state has en-
countered the technical phenomenon in a far different framework
from the traditional. How has this encounter been effected? There
are a multiplicity of causes. We shall not concern ourselves with
general causes such as the diffusion of ideas, demography, national-
ism and colonialism, the influence of finance on the state, and so
on. All these factors are well known and are dealt with in numer-
ous textbooks. We shall apply ourselves here to those causes which
stand in direct relationship to technique.

The first cause is the rapid extension of techniques formerly em-
ployed only by individuals into domains which the state had never
before penetrated. Among these techniques were those of trans-
port, education, aid to the helpless and indigent, and even spiritual
techniques (as represented by the Congregation “de Propaganda
Fide” or the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola). The use of
these techniques had two effects: on the one hand, they produced
clearer and more distinct results so that they attracted the attention
of the state; and on the other, they allowed a considerable exten-
sion of the field of activity to which they were applied. For exam-
ple, they were able to reach the masses of men. But the moment
they proved themselves able to operate efficiently on the masses,
they ceased to be purely private. The state could no longer remain
disinterested.

When instruction was imparted by a few masters on the Pont
des Arts, or in a small number of episcopal colleges, there were
only a handful of students — and de minimis non curat praetor } By
the time the technique of organization and pedagogy permitted
the creation of the university, however, the state's attention was

1 A Roman legal maxim: “The praetor [the state] has no concern for trifles.” (Trans.)

The Technological Society ( *35

inevitably attracted by this much more grandiose phenomenon. It
was impossible for the state not to feel directly concerned* espe-
cially when in the eighteenth century certain ecclesiastics such as
Jean-Baptiste de la Salle aspired to make education free and com-
pulsory by way of a new pedagogy which could be directly ad-
dressed to all children.

Put another way, these techniques, because they were applicable
to the masses, allowed individual persons to transform their sphere
of activity from a private to a public one. These techniques seemed
designed for this very purpose. And to the degree that their in-
fluence increased, they had to come into contact with the state
itself, since they collided with the fundamental principles of state
power. In any case, the private persons who had developed these
techniques gradually ceased to be able to utilize them because
they came to exceed the possibilities of any individual. When ap-
peal was not made to the state, it was necessary, for their exploita-
tion, to set up organisms as vast and powerful as the state itself.
Thus, trusts and corporations were rendered necessary by the
technical apparatus. This occurred even in the absence of the
profit motive, after wealth had become incommensurable with the
individual and therefore abstract. The prime purpose of state or
corporation might even be to rob and despoil the individual by
the exploitation of these techniques. I repeat that it could not have
been otherwise. From a certain degree of development onward,
every technique concerns the collectivity of men.

It would be unthinkable for us today to leave in private hands
really efficient instruments such as atomic energy. In 1949 a report
was presented to the Congress of the United States emphasizing
the fact that the study and production of atomic energy must re-
main in the public domain. It would likewise be unthinkable that
a private citizen have the radio at his disposal in order to unleash
a campaign of agitation on a world scale. In every country the
radio is at least under the supervision of the state, whether it is
under direct state control or in private hands. No matter how
liberal the state may be, it is obliged by the mere fact of technical
advance to extend its powers in every possible way.

The second cause of the interrelation of state and technique is
directly related to the first; the application of techniques is ex-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

* 3 *)

tremely expensive. Whatever realm we survey, we note that it
becomes gradually impossible for personal or familial capital, how-
ever concentrated, to answer technical requirements.

Modern research in nuclear physics implies that the state must
pay the bill No private person could support the cost of cyclotrons
and their auxiliary apparatus. Once a certain degree of technical
progress has been achieved, continual improvements give rise to
instrumentation so complex and large that the cost price is inacces-
sible to the individual. The present growth of cost price in all
technical domains is unparalleled, even in recent history. The pub-
lic has gained some faint conception of this through the prices of
some of the recently discovered “wonder drugs* such as strepto-
mycin. But it fails to realize the magnitude of the growth of other
cost figures. For example, one hour of flight in a B-17 bomber ( com-
parable to the larger commercial passenger aircraft) cost 60,000
francs in 1944. The B-36, which replaced the B-17, cost 400,000
francs per flight hour in 1950. There is a comparable growth in the
cost of the machines themselves. The B-17 00x4 120 million francs;
the B-36, 1 billion 600 million. These cost prices, officially recog-
nized in 1951, have been far surpassed. Thus, the prototype of the
B-52 cost, on the day of its commissioning, 40 billion francs. An
analogous growth of cost price applies to all techniques. The prices
indicated are virtually the same for commercial aviation, equipped
with the latest technical improvements. Private companies no
longer exist which are able to support such expense. A blast furnace
for a modern steel plant costs 8 billion francs; a hot rolling-mill,
12 billion; a cable mill, 7 billion. Altogether, a plant capable of
producing a million tons of steel annually requires a primary in-
vestment of 125 billion francs. It is impossible not to appeal to the
state to make up with subventions the insufficient resources of
private enterprise. We have already noted the alternative: the slow-
down of technical progress occasioned by private capitalism. Such
a slowdown would be regarded as intolerable, and could not last
very long.

The problem has nothing to do with debates about “nationaliza-
tion 1." No more relevant is the allegation that the state frequently
applies techniques with “less ability" than private enterprise, or that
it “wastes money." What I am emphasizing here is that the prin-
cipal menace to capitalistic individualism is not some theory or

The Technological Society {*37

other, but technical progress. To take another example, it is clear
that, as city-planning techniques develop, they will give rise to
more extended and precise urban research, to urgent reconstruc-
tion plans, and to a new and completely indispensable conception
of the city. It is impossible to go on indefinitely contemplating
these plans on paper; a technique must be applied The only ques-
tion is; who shall apply it?

Electrical networks may remain for some time independent of
one another. But this situation cannot last when it is found that
independence gives rise to general costs of no inconsiderable
magnitude, difficulties in arranging the courses of the lines, and
even practical difficulties in electrical technique. The interconnec-
tion of electrical networks is demanded by all technical men.
Again, the only question is: who will execute it? And it is immedi-
ately clear that only the state is in a position to do so. The problem
is even more acute when it is a question of the interconnection of
the lines of several nations, not merely the domestic lines of a single
country. (An international European network is already pro-
jected.)

Whatever the area of interest, problems are raised by technology
which demand technical solutions but which are of such magni-
tude that they cannot be solved by private enterprise: for example,
pollution of water supplies and of the urban atmosphere. These
phenomena, which have assumed such proportions that they
threaten the whole of city life, are of purely technical origia Only
rigorous and authoritarian measures of general control can solve
these problems if they are to be solved at all That is to say, appeal
to dictatorial state action is indispensable.

These problems all exceed the powers of private individuals.
Technique, once developed to a certain point, poses problems that
only tire state can resolve, both from the point of view of finance
and from that of power.

The third cause of the interrelation of state and technique is the
transformation of the role of the state and of its conceptions of its
role. The state takes on increasingly extended and numerous ac-
tivities. It considers itself the ordainer and preceptor of the nation.
It takes charge of the national life and becomes the nation-state.
The phenomenon of the nation-state has appeared as a result of
the coincidence of a variety of circumstances upon which it is

2 3 <3 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

useless to insist here. Let us simply note, first, that the state seeks
to organize national life and to govern its various collectivities,
most often because natural communities have disappeared and it is
necessary to create new ones. Second, the state seeks to fashion the
"individualist” society (the role the twentieth century has elected
to play) and to penetrate into mens private lives on the ground
that they are no longer able materially to manage their own af-
fairs. Finally, all kinds of theories, both socialist and nonsocialist,
are influential; but, whatever their nature, they all appeal to the
state to secure a greater degree of justice and equality. In all these
ways the state assumes functions which were formerly the province
of private groups. And in performing these functions, the state
encounters techniques hitherto employed by individuals.

When, for example, the state takes charge of education, it en-
counters two technical elements originally developed by private
persons: a complete educational organization and a pedagogy. The
state, in taking over any activity, encounters the techniques of that
activity and sees its technical potential augmented thereby. The
augmentation of potential reciprocally brings the state into closer
relation with the technique. Nowhere is tliis relation clearer than
in the economic field. When the state establishes itself as producer
and consumer, it enters the older domain of exploitation by indi-
viduals. It is confronted with a complete technical system the
broad outlines of which have already been drawn and focused.
But basically the state enters this domain because productive and
economic techniques, the development of which we have already
studied, render such action indispensable. Thus, we have a two-
way street: technical development inevitably brings about state
intervention in the economic world; and, reciprocally, when the
state intervenes it finds a technical apparatus which it develops
further.

The economy, to a greater or lesser degree, conditions the creation
of the nation-state. Alternative explanations — political and intel-
lectual — are given for the creation, let us say, of the Fascist state.
But the most profound cause of this phenomenon was the economic
impasse in which Italy and Germany found themselves. The
nation-state was primarily a response to the cessation of economic
evolution. That there were other causal factors is clear, but we are
seeking to locate the central cause. The problem of the adaptation

The Technological Society (2 39

of the whole of society to the economic movement in all its ramifi-
cations is not to be solved by economics alone. It is a technical
problem. The economy, with its enormous productive capacity,
volume of trade, mobilization of society, and economic techniques
which thirst to be applied, is no longer a closed circle, a single
activity among others. It engages the life of the whole society and
of all men in it.

Economic problems are now problems of the whole of society.
The relation between the economy and all other human activities
can no longer be merely empirical. Liberalism sufficed for the
economy of a century and a half ago. Today it has no meaning.
No economic theory is eternally valid; every period demands its
own. The problem of the adaptation of society to economy (and it
is in this sense rather than in the inverse, traditional sense that the
problem must be posed) is a technical problem. That is to say, the
problem has a solution only in a certain arrangement, through
the mediation of the social apparatus and social mechanisms. This
supposes an adaptative intervention having as its object the whole
of society and conscious of end and methods. Only a superior
power, limited by nothing and possessing all instrumentalities, is
in a position to proceed to this adaptation. This is what will bring
about the mobilization of all means by the state; in our day it is
completing the encounter between state and techniques which was
already necessitated by the other factors we have studied.

Private and Public T echniques . The techniques first developed by
individuals and later on encountered by the state present very dif-
ferent characteristics from those of traditional political techniques.
In their origin and development they manifest the following traits:

1) They are better perfected and better adapted than the
techniques of the state. They represent the inspirations of individu-
als acting out of personal interest or for those higher motives we call
vocation . In either case the individual devotes himself to his task
wholeheartedly and with passion; such a devotion is rarely to be
found among the creators of state techniques. There genuine en-
thusiasm is found only for very limited periods. Thus, the councilors
of Philip IV, the prefects of Napoleon, the Nazi Fuhrer, the
people’s commissars of the Soviet Union alone seem to have been
capable of rivaling the ardor and technical devotion of free workers
who have made technical progress. Isolated individuals working for

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

240)

personal motives seem to display more imagination. When the same
problems are posed simultaneously to the state and to individuals,
the individuals are usually the first to find the correct method and
solution. Whenever it has been of importance to secure acceptance
for some brand of goods, doctrine, product, or action, private per-
sons ( businessmen or religious groups ) confronted with the same
necessities as the state have tended to respond much more rapidly.
The Church created propaganda; later, private commercial in-
terests created publicity. The state and its propaganda came in a
poor third. Even then, it was private persons who applied propa-
ganda long before the great systems of Lenin and Hitler. In France
the Maison de la Presse inaugurated efficient propaganda opera-
tions in 1916. In England, a private organization, The Central
Committee for National Patriotic Organization, performed the
same function. Commercial interests found the most efficient prop-
aganda methods by exploiting the discoveries of psychology and
psychoanalysis.

In the private creation of techniques there is a very great di-
versity of methods. No one acts in accordance with a general
schema. The individual always lives a much more realistic and real
life than a collectivity, especially the state. The individual con-
siders the problem as it really exists in its individuality and, as a
consequence, seeks the method that represents the best solution.
The state, on the other hand, acts on masses of men and on
multiple problems, and it is inevitably drawn to schematize and to
deny the complexity of problems. As a result, it is unable to dis-
cover the technique best adapted to their solution. This is why
techniques created by individuals yield the best output and are
better adapted to their objects, why they are techniques in the
truest sense. We discover the same thing in the following fact:
the individual possesses only limited financial resources and cannot
allow himself the luxury of waste and excess. When he seeks the
solution of a difficulty, expense is a factor. He must find the least
costly mode of action; thus, he is brought around to economy of
means, a characteristic of true technique which we have already
examined. Corroboration of this is found even in domains which
concern the state directly. Thus, the mechanization of state ad-
ministration is a result of experiments made by private banking
houses since 1914 and by German industry since 1926. Only around

The Technological Society (241

1940 did public administration begin to apply the “new" principles.
The state rarely discovers and applies any true techniques, for the
simple reason that it has too much power and too many financial
resources for its agents to seek out economy of means — the first re-
quirement. Its methods are, generally speaking, ponderous and ex-
pensive and require an enormous apparatus to secure mediocre
results. Its results are obtained, in fact, through the sheer enormity
of the means employed rather than through their technical quality.
(This is evident today in the French insurance industry.) The pri-
vate person, on the other hand, is constrained by pecuniary neces-
sity to develop true techniques. This also applies sometimes in the
case of a poor state. Such was the case in the Third Reich. Another
factor operated in favor of private persons throughout the nine-
teenth century: capitalistic competition. Then techniques had not
yet produced machines and methods exceeding human possibili-
ties; it was therefore mandatory to employ the most efficient tech-
niques so as not to be crushed by the competition. Technical im-
provement usually conferred substantial competitive superiority.
This favored an acceleration of private technical progress right up
to the time when it was no longer possible for the finances of
private entities to keep pace with technical progress.

2) Techniques elaborated by individuals were the result of
specialization, which operated at first in the scientific domain but
which was introduced into the technical world before long.
During the nineteenth and the early part of the twentieth centuries,
specialization was conducive to the development of different tech-
niques along very divergent lines. Every technical branch operated
independently of the others. Few or no relations existed among
them. There was no organ to co-ordinate their efforts. (The situa-
tion was very different with the techniques of the state. Through
the co-ordinating effect of the state s political function, as we have
noted, these techniques had a certain degree of co-ordination
among themselves.) But it mattered little whether private tech-
niques were or were not co-ordinated, since the majority of them
had as their end money profit, not the improvement of society.
Every individual found his own way to success. This specialization
produced very advanced techniques with which to deal with cir-
cumscribed problems in certain areas but it left large areas barren
and unexplored. This led to the impression, up to about 1930, of

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

242)

a certain incoherence and of an extraordinary inequality of de-
velopment; it also led to the common error, which still persists,
that technique and machine are identical. Undoubtedly it is this
dispersion of technical operations that allows certain writers to
deny that they are dealing with a technical society. These super-
ficial observers do not deny that certain areas of society are affected
by technique; but they assert that inumerable factors are inde-
pendent of it. This is a backward view of things, based on tradi-
tional conceptions of society and completely removed from reality.
But it is true that co-ordination of the different techniques has
still not been completed; and wherever they remain in private
hands they tend to remain specialized and unco-ordinated. How-
ever, technical co-ordination is rapidly being extended, and it is
becoming less and less possible to speak of areas into which tech-
nique has not penetrated.

3) The techniques created by private individuals, contrary to
those of the state, rarely slacken their pace. They are in constant
forward movement and progressively affect all spheres of human
activity. This has taken place only in the twentieth century, but it
was always of the essence of private activity that its techniques
had expansive power.

We have already studied the step-by-step development of priv-
ate techniques. It must in justice be added that private activity has
also been conducive to technical generalization. When in the past
the state created its techniques, it was satisfied vrith them as they
were and made no attempt at further progress, although this is no
longer the case today. However, private activity has never wearied
of the struggle, particularly since it has become necessary to exploit
all possibilities in order to survive. The population explosion, for
example, has encouraged the proliferation of private research. Sud-
denly there were too many people. It was impossible to employ all
the new workers, and even industrial production could not absorb
the extra manpower. It became a matter of prime necessity to dis-
cover new industries and to utilize new work forms. Technique
proved to be just the right means for exploring the possibilities.
The extension of the factory system, along with technical applica-
tion in certain new domains, was the (unconscious) means of
employing the surplus workers. Simultaneously, however, it pre-
cipitated crises of unemployment. (The two facts are intimately

The Technological Society (*43

related.) Thus, techniques rapidly came to be employed every-
where to a certain extent. They have taken over not only all work-
ing life but also man’s diversions, which have been transformed into
industrial enterprises. Very soon man himself became the object of
technique, a mere means to the end of profitmaking. Among the
most notable techniques developed and applied in this area are
public relations and human relations, which have as their goal to
associate, adapt, and integrate the human individual into the tech-
nical milieu in such a way that he will not suffer from it.

Private initiative, then, took the decisive step in the application of
techniques to man. State action could never have brought this to
pass. The state was too content with its coercive power to apply
precise techniques.

The Reaction of the State to Techniques . When, as a conse-
quence of the circumstances we have studied, the state comes into
contact with the techniques elaborated by individuals, when it
encounters a private sphere of action which techniques have trans-
formed into a sphere of public interest, it reacts by taking over this
sphere as well as the techniques which brought about the mutation.

Sometimes the state enters a field of action for very different
reasons than the ones I have so far mentioned. The state will adopt
techniques simply because it finds them already functioning. How-
ever evident this fact may be, it is necessary to emphasize it; to
neglect it is to occasion many misunderstandings. The state will
not act otherwise than as individuals have already acted. Insurance
companies have developed insurance techniques; when these com-
panies are nationalized, the state retains the old mechanism. After
all, there are only a limited number of ways of using actuaries or
establishing a police force. When an automobile manufacturing
enterprise passes under state control, the tempo of the operations
and the assembly line are not modified. This is particularly clear
with regard to material techniques, because techniques seem to us
the more constraining the more they are material. But, in fact, im-
material techniques display exactly the same characteristics.

When the French Revolution tried to suppress the systems of edu-
cation and of charities that the old regime had established through
the efforts of private persons, the attempts miscarried lamentably.
The effort to create a system of public assistance (hospitals and
homes for the elderly, for abandoned children, and for the poor)

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

* 44 )

and a system of state education was a major enterprise of the Con-
vention and of the Constituent Assembly. But these systems were
failures. Excessive systematization and theoretical precision some-
times represent the exact opposite of a good technique. In these
instances, the state encountered an organization which was indeed
imperfect but which was, after the technical improvements of the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, very nearly sufficient. Con-
fronted by these institutions, the state, for theoretical reasons, set
out to destroy and to re-create on paper systems of education and
of public assistance which corresponded to the theoretical deci-
sions and doctrines of the Convention, although they turned out to
be neither efficient nor technically sound. (In the realm of educa-
tion, the state sought to break the power of the Church and estab-
lish a wholly laicized system. In public assistance, the state set the
concept of justice in opposition to that of charity and desired to
give its support only to citizens.) The new systems, unfortunately,
were never able to function. With the Directory and the Consulate,
a backward movement set in. The revolutionary innovations made
with such difficulty were repudiated and the techniques that had
preceded them were restored. The university and the colleges were
reorganized in nearly the same way as the schools of the eight-
eenth century. The pedagogical system created by the Jesuits was
restored; hospices and hospitals were reconstituted as they had
been before the Revolution. And since it was difficult to secure
new specialized personnel, the old personnel, monks and nuns,
were restored to duty. The great difference was that now all the
institutions were under the control of the state. But although they
functioned as organizations belonging to the state, they were in
fact identical with the earlier private organizations. The arbitrary
creations of the Revolution having failed, it was necessary to use
already existing technical creations.

The same phenomenon appeared in the realm of finance under
the Third Reich. Hitlers revolution claimed to have done away
with all the classical methods of finance; it wanted to be revolu-
tionary in the management of nationalized enterprises, in the or-
ganization of commerce and monetary relations, and even in finan-
cial technique. Insofar as National Socialism was a party, it
emphasized the struggle against capitalism. Feders program pro-
vided for a complete transformation of economic and financial life;

The Technological Society (24 5

manipulation of money, prices, and wages would lead to the dis-
appearance of capitalism, and to this end completely new financial
forms were recommended. But, little by little, financial necessity
in its most traditional form reasserted itself: to accomplish reforms,
money was needed. In 1938 Schacht reaffirmed the old position
that only the orthodox financial technique of capitalism was capa-
ble of furnishing the funds necessary to the Nazi state. Rejection
of inflation, short-term financing, refusal to use currency for financ-
ing — all thesewere traditional principles of financial technique. The
financial machinery of the Third Reich was nearly identical with
that of the Empire in 1914. All this is characteristic of the sub-
mission of state and revolutionary doctrine to enemy principles
through the effects of techniques, which, when they are efficient,
are necessarily common to both. In essence, the Nazis turned from
technically untenable inventions back to an efficient financial tech-
nique, a technique identical with the one that dominated in the
capitalistic countries and in the Soviet Union. At a given moment
and in a given framework, there are only a limited number of tech-
niques for attaining a given result.

The technical phenomenon is not modified when an organization
passes under state control. According to Simone Weil, this explains
why a system of industrial rationalization, which ought normally
to develop into socialism, in fact can only exacerbate the worker's
condition. Fourasti^ agrees (perhaps involuntarily) when he
writes: "If technical development has been intensive, then, what-
ever the nature of judicial conditions, profits, unearned income and
even political regime, there has been improvement in consumer
purchasing power. This is the essential source of the social progress
brought about by the last century and a half." This amounts to
saying that technical progress breaks down all barriers and tech-
nique imposes its structures and social progress. This forward
motion of technique is a constant, whatever the variables of the
questionmay be.

The state cannot modify technical rules; and should it attempt
to do so for doctrinal reasons, it suffers an inevitable setback. For
this reason, the transition of the economy to state control can create
only state capitalism, not socialism. Socialism implies the suppres-
sion of the state. (We shall see further on what it implies with
respect to technique.) Insofar as the state continues to exist, noth-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

246)

ing prevents it from calling itself socialist, but in reality nothing
has changed. It is only a sleight-of-hand trick to say that the same
institution with the same rules, applied in the same way and having
the same results, is socialist when it is at the service of the people
and capitalist when it is at the service of capitalist institutions.
What does it mean to be at the “service of the people”? Such an
expression can only designate the service of a state which calls
itself socialist, although it does not proceed democratically from
the people. But what does it mean to be socialist under these con-
ditions? It means to be at the service of the people. We are going
around in a circle. One of the gravest symptoms of our times is
that technique has little by little emptied socialism of any con-
tent. Beyond evident facts — such as the relation of Stakhanovism
to Taylorism, or the identity of police methods in the Soviet Union
and in Fascist countries — a major example is the persistence of the
capitalist’s so-called “surplus value” (in reality , profit ) in socialistic
regimes. The financial system of the Soviets is based, to the extent
of 80 per cent, on the difference between wages paid to the work-
ers and the value of their product. This profit, which the socialist
regime professes to have eliminated, has actually been extended.
The only difference is that it goes into the coffers of the state in-
stead of the corporation’s cash box. But in capitalist regimes the
corporation tends to become a public entity. Mikoyan, in his speech
of October 17, 1953, declared: “Capitalist commerce has certain
technical features that we ought to study. By reason of competition
and the difficulty of attracting customers, capitalist countries have
developed exact methods of commercial organization These ought
to be applied in those areas of the Soviet Union where they are
likely to prove efficient”

I could go on and show that all technical rules and institutions
are identically reproduced in the socialist state. This means that
there are no longer any specifically 1 socialist institutions. Nor are
there any adminisrative or economic organizations which are pe-
culiarly the result of socialism. The socialist state, because it is
efficient, has been obliged to adopt the technical principles of
capitalism. Hence, in order to distinguish the socialist situation
from the others, socialism always falls back on that vaguest of all
concepts, teleology. Capitalism, it is said, has regard only for itself;
it seeks but to preserve itself. Socialism, on the other hand, is a

The Technological Society ( *47

constructive force on the march. But nothing warrants the belief
that the means employed will result in socialism. Teleology can
only create a stir for a short time as an instrument of propaganda;
but it is far from certain that such propaganda can give character
to socialism, which more and more is losing its specific reality as
a result of technique.

The state, by taking possession of all technical spheres and in-
strumentalities, becomes of necessity a capitalist state, substituting
itself for private capitalists. And when it has come to understand
its real interest, it adds nothing and modifies nothing that, techni-
cally speaking, pre-existed. When the state realizes the use it can
make of techniques, when it understands the usefulness of tech-
niques in all spheres, it moves deliberately to appropriate them.

In the past (and to a certain degree today), circumstances led
the state to appropriate a given technique. The fortuitous develop-
ment of some political trend, the encounter of technique with the
state — these led the state, a bit haphazardly, to adopt a technique.
But instances of premeditated action on the part of the state in this
direction are beginning to be discernible; for example, the exploita-
tion of propaganda and atomic research. We must expect this
movement to gain greater and greater amplitude, for when the
state has once undertaken some action, it generally goes on to the
end.

Repercussion* on the State

The conjunction of state and technique is not a neutral fact For
many it is not surprising and implies nothing but a growth of state
power. They ask whether, after all, it is not a good thing that the
state perform its functions as well as possible and be well equipped
to this end. We have indeed known a state which had only a
laughable police force, powerless and incapable of checking crimi-
nals. It is a good thing for technical progress in this sphere to
collate all other techniques, thus enabling the state to perform its
role of arresting crime. These techniques, when utilized by the
state, enable it to restore order, to guarantee certain liberties, and
even perhaps to master its political destiny. This is how current
opinion interprets the conjunction of technique and the state. I be-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

248)

lieve that such attitudes are superficial and inaccurate* Technique,
In its present state of development, is no longer merely a passive
instrument under state control, as it was under the control of cer-
tain individuals. The question now is what we see when we ex-
amine contemporary facts instead of antiquated principles.
Evolution. The first consequence of the conjunction of state and
technique is the progressive transformation of the old techniques of
the state after they have come in contact with the new techniques —
formerly private but now becoming public. When a comparison
is made between private and public techniques, it is noted that
private techniques are incomparably more efficient. (I have al-
ready indicated certain reasons for this. ) To the extent that tech-
niques remain private, they lie outside the framework of the state.
When they come under state control, however, the question in-
evitably arises why these techniques should not be incorporated
into the traditional framework of the state. But private techniques
seem to have been created to answer different requirements; they
have different dimensions, and this poses a problem. Private meth-
ods are intimately connected with their objectives, and these of-
jectives are of human dimensions. Consequently, they are not
adaptable to the much more extended needs of the state. This in-
compatibility ceases to be true, however, as private business begins
to assume dimensions equal to and sometimes greater than those
of the state. It is clear that enterprises such as Citroen or Bata
are of such dimensions that their administrations are comparable to
the administration of the state. Standard Oil has international in-
terests of such magnitude that its international policy is like that
of a state. The financial power of the Insurance Trust is such
that a parallel can be drawn between its financial system and that
of a state. It appears that, starting with a certain critical mass,
sociological and technical laws are identical for private and public
enterprises.

We may exclude from the technical framework states such as
Luxembourg and San Marino. And we may soon be forced to ex-
clude nations which do not prepare themselves quickly enough to
face up to technical demands, such as Belgium, Holland, and Den-
mark. These three have already been obliged to combine in order
to meet modern technical problems. European nations in general
are being compelled to renounce political sovereignty and form

The Technological Society (*49

associations designed to realize certain far-reaching technical op-
erations, as, for example, research projects in atomic energy (1958),
the exploitation of the Sahara ( 1958), the launching of an artificial
satellite (i960). Conversely, we must include in the technical
framework the great private enterprises, whose technical princi-
ples are identical with those of the state. Indeed, it may be said
in general that the state lags behind the great corporations in this
respect and that it is compelled to modify and rationalize its ad-
ministrative, judicial, and financial systems on the model of the
great commercial and industrial enterprises. This is the point that
Hrant Pasdermaidjan makes in his book about the government of
great organizations. He shows in particular that all administra-
tions— civil or military, state or industrial — must rest on identical
principles of technical organization if they would be efficient If
these principles are not followed, the administration is condemned
to being overtaken and passed by private enterprises. In this re-
spect, France is alarmingly backward. Because our administrative
and financial system was the world’s best a century ago, we care-
fully persist in maintaining it, whereas the plain truth is that cer-
tain techniques would guarantee much better results. Even our
newly created administrations, such as Social Security, refuse to be
guided by well-known technical rules. This is not the case in the
so-called progressive countries, in which the administrative and
financial systems are aligned very rapidly (too rapidly, perhaps,
when the social order is not on the same plane as the technical or-
ganization ) with industrial and commercial techniques.

This new organization of administration results in part from the
creation of a technique of administration and in part from the in-
troduction of the machine into all organizations. The two are re-
lated, not only because mechanization entails, as I have already
pointed out, a reorganization of administrative units but also be-
cause mechanization solves the major problem of administration,
the problem of paper work. All organizations are founded on paper
work. And when paper work transcends human capacities by virtue
of sheer quantity and complexity, the problem of what to do about
it arises. The machine is the solution.

To get some idea of the magnitude of this mechanization, let us
consider the two over-all categories of office machines, accounting
and statistical. The first category is divided into seven major types

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

* 5 °)

and their subdivisions. The second is divided into four types and
fourteen species. The operations effected by these machines in-
volve a modification of the administrative structure: administra-
tive tasks must comply with mechanical requirements. Mas says
that “the operations cannot be carried out except by breaking them
down into homogeneous tasks and functions so that they can be
committed to mechanical organs.” The operations may be grouped
by cycles as a function of the end sought; or they may be brought
together into a single task combining all operations of the same
technical nature. This last is the so-called functional grouping,
which results in an administration divided into “performance func-
tion,” “arrangement function,” “interpretation function,” and “con-
trol function.” It is easily seen how far removed all this is from
the traditional type of office and from the customary division of
administrative tasks.

What is true in administration is also true in finances. The tradi-
tional principles of public accounting, such as the separation of
the funcions of comptroller and accountant, the control of monies
paid out, etc., have clearly been affected. A tremendous leap was
necessary for the Cour des Comptes, twenty years in arrears with
its inspection of finances, to deliver in 1948 the results for 1944
and 1945. The guiding principle of finance today is that security
is sacrificed to speed. Finance no longer represents, as it did in
the nineteenth century, the rule, the criterion, and the check. It
has become the instrument of an efficient general policy. It must
never act as an obstacle to a decision which is technically valid.
Its traditional role as a check and constraint has been rendered
questionable through the adoption of new techniques in imitation
of private enterprise.

The financial regime of a modern state is highly reminiscent of
commercial affairs. The rules of accounting are modified by the ap-
plication of business machines, for example, punched-card ma-
chines. Here machine intervention directly voids an older ad-
ministrative technique. A certain flexibility is necessary but is
rarely found in state structures, which are, for various reasons,
rigid Nothing less than revolution brings about the adaptation of
political regimes to the technical improvements which have be-
come mandatory as a result of private enterprise. This is only a
corollary of what I have been saying — namely, that political moti-

The T echnological Society (251

vations do not dominate technical phenomena, but rather the re-
verse. The state is usually unable for doctrinal reasons to revolu-
tionize the techniques of public finance. But when technical
progress makes this revolution mandatory, the state is obliged to
capitulate.

This is clear enough with respect to army, police, administra-
tion, and finance, but it is perhaps less clear with respect to law.
Here is one of the major problems contemporary jurists ought to
be considering; but all too often they waste their time in textual
subtleties. The judicial regime is simply not adapted to technical
civilization, and this is one of the causes of its inefficiency and of
the ever greater contempt felt toward it.

Law is conceived as a function of a traditional society. It has not
registered the essential transformation of the times. Its content is
exactly what it was three centuries ago. It has experienced only a
few fragmentary transformations (such as the corporation) — no
other attempts at modernization have been made. Nor have form
and methods varied any more than content. Judicial technique has
been little affected by the techniques that surround us today; had
it been, it might have gained much in speed and flexibility.

Faced with this importance of the law, society passes to the oppo-
site extreme and burdens administration with everything that is the
product of the times in the judicial sphere. Administration, because
it is better adapted from the technical point of view, continually
enlarges its sphere at the expense of the judicial, which remains
centered on vanishing problems such as codicils, community re-
versions, and the like. These last, and all similar problems that are
the exclusive concern of our law, are problems that relate to an
individualistic society of private property, political stability, and
judicial subtlety.

Law is radically vitiated by its backwardness. We ought to be
concerned not only with making laws but with rediscovering judi-
cial principles that might possibly put into some kind of order the
constructions made necessary by modem technique. All the tradi-
tional legal principles are collapsing; for example, the principle of
the nonretroactivity of laws or that of the personalite des delits
et des peines. This is not due to the particular evil of our society,
but simply to the fact that the law, insofar as it is a system, is not
adapted to absorb necessary innovations. This is the resistance to

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

* 5 *)

social upheaval of a long-tested and traditional technique. And in
the judicial sphere, unlike the others, there is no fund of private
experiment to render it more efficient. As I have pointed out, priv-
ate experiment remains the principal source of the advance of
technique, even when technique has passed into the hands of the
state.

Another striking example of this is found in pedagogy. Educa-
tional method was stabilized after the state nationalized education
and adopted the Jesuits' technique. But the pedagogic movement
dating from the turn of the century is at present rendering the
whole edifice questionable. The older framework was coherent, but
the combined technical discoveries of psychologists, physicians,
and educators have given birth to a new system which is progres-
sively penetrating the educational milieu. The state is moving in
the direction of these discoveries. It has created the so-called new
classes , which do not yet correspond exactly to the principles of
modern pedagogy but which do represent the first step of integra-
tion into the body of the state of a method worked out by private
persons. Once again we see the traditional techniques of the state
being modified by the influence of private techniques, subject to a
certain lag and to difficulties that result from the enormity of the
operations, which concern not a few individuals but millions.

The Technical Organism . A second consequence of the penetra-
tion of the state by techniques is that the state as a whole becomes
an enormous technical organism. Thus, nationalization of certain
industrial plants not only makes the state an industrial “boss” or
technician, but also compels it to revise its techniques of organiza-
tion and administration. Indeed, in Great Britain, France, and
even the United States the dimensions of the newer industrial or-
ganizations of the state far surpass those of private enterprise. We
are witnessing the creation of technical bureaus of a new character
and the creation of hitherto unknown types of organizations de-
signed to redistribute power internally on the different levels. All
this, unbeknown to the public, doubtless produces repercussions
on the structure of the state, the effects of which are decisive but
will only make themselves felt some years hence. It may be added
that these changes are much more widespread in Great Britain
than in France.

In order to gain some conception of the full range of techniques

The Technological Society ( * 5 3

applied by the modem state, consider the following enumeration
of techniques which lie outside the traditional domains already
examined:

Industrial and commercial techniques of all orders (the state be-
coming state-boss to an ever greater degree)

Insurance and banking techniques, including social security,
family allotments, and nationalized banks

Organizational techniques, including co-ordinating commissions
among all services, and new inspection systems
Psychological techniques, including services of propaganda, vo-
cational guidance, and psychotechniques
Artistic techniques, including radio, television, a more or less
official motion-picture industry, city planning, and controlled tour-
ism

Scientific techniques, including the various centers of scientific
research

Planning techniques (with arbitrary objectives), including gen-
eral economic planning, transport planning, and city planning
Biological techniques (already a reality, although rare), includ-
ing human stud-farms, euthanasia, obligatory vaccination and
medical inspection, and social assistance
Sociological techniques (for the management of the masses and
the study of public opinion)

Each of these comprises various subsidiary techniques, complex
mechanisms, and specialized methods. The state, since it applies
these methods where necessary, can itself no longer be anything
other than technical. Persons who become panic-stricken before
such administrative proliferation and aggrandizement of state ac-
tivities, who criticize social security, for example, because it em-
ploys too many civil servants, who hold that a return to liberalism
would suppress this proliferation, show thereby that they have not
understood the development of modern times. No deliberate choice
on the part of the state, no theoretical decision, has brought about
this growth of technique; its causes were independent of the per-
sonal or collective. The modern state could no more be a state
without techniques than a businessman could be a businessman
without the telephone or the automobile. The businessman does
not employ these objects because he is particularly enamored of
progress. The state does not employ propaganda or planning be-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

354)

cause it is socialist The circumstances are such that the state can-
not be other than it is. Not only does it need techniques, but tech-
niques need it It is not a matter of chance, nor a matter of
conscious will; rather, it is an urgency which expresses itself in the
growth of the technical apparatus around a rather slight and feeble
'‘brain/* The motive force behind the state does not develop in
proportion to the state apparatus. This motive force (theological
interpretations aside) is man. And man has no more capacity to
function when he is at the center of the technical organization than
when he is a simple citizen lost in the machinery. In other words,
the politician is demoted to minority status by the enormity of the
techniques the state has at its disposal The state is no longer the
President of the Republic plus one or more Chambers of Deputies.
Nor is it a dictator with certain all-powerful ministers. It is an
organization of increasing complexity which puts to work the sum
of the techniques of the modem world. Theoretically our politi-
cians are at the center of the machinery, but actually they are being
progressively eliminated by it. Our statesmen are impotent satel-
lites of the machine, which, with all its parts and techniques, ap-
parently functions as well without them. The state machine is, to
be sure, not yet well adjusted, but we are only at the beginning,
and its adjustment is already good enough to give the unmistakable
impression that it will tolerate no outside influence.

I know there are some who believe the political factor to be
predominant. These people will cite the sovereign authority of men
such as Stalin, who for political reasons modified the technical or-
ganization by excluding certain techniques and retaining others.
Some will cite the authority of Hitler, which was exercised for
doctrinaire, not technical reasons. In these cases, and in many
others, it would seem that politicians make real political decisions
which coerce and determine the technical machinery. Were this
true, the state would not be primarily technical. But we must not
be taken in by appearances. Gabriel Ardant has clearly shown that
today the search for efficiency is the law of the state’s administra-
tions and services. Where purely administrative technique is not
the chief goal, government is no longer possible. It is not sufficient
to improve one or another governmental service, or to create iso-
lated new organisms. The whole structure and methodology must

The Technological Society (255

be considered; in this process the politician does not count for
much.

The Conflict Between the Politicians and the Technicians . The
intrusion of techniques into the machinery of the state involves the
conflict of politicians and technicians. “Let the technicians speak"
is a leitmotiv of all the journals of the opposition. Dardenne, in his
Troismois chez les paysans noirs , concludes his African inquiry by
noting the necessity of allowing the “era of the technicians to suo
ceed the era of authoritarian administrators." He sees in this the
solution of all the human problems of the Negro peasantry. For ex-
ample, he contrasts the political decisions of administrators to build
barracks and strategic military roads with the technical decisions
of agronomists and economists to develop the African cotton in-
dustry and to furnish cheap cotton goods to the natives. But
Dardenne overlooks the fact tliat the first decision was not made
by politicians, but technicians: the military. He holds too firmly
to the idea that technician means engineer. He neglects the tech-
nical character of both the army and the air force, and sometimes
even of the administration.

This oversight, which is widespread, often leads to a misinter-
pretation of certain well-known conflicts of interest. In 1938 many
people insisted that there was hostility between the Nazi Party and
the technicians (and even the army). But this “conflict" came to
nothing, unless it was the attempt on Hitler — which was made in
1944 after his power had been effectively broken. A. Ciliga and
Stolypine report that a similar situation exists in the Soviet Union.
According to Ciliga, alongside the Communist bureaucracy which
holds the political power through its mass organizations and labor
unions, there is a “technical intelligentsia," the ITR, which is
strongly organized and nonpartisan and which has created its own
corporative organization. All technicians belong to the ITR, and its
role has become more important in proportion as the economic
structure is increasingly based on the activities of technicians. The
five-year plan implies a technical framework without parallel. An
alleged conflict exists between the Communist Party and the ITR;
the ITR seeks to turn out the Party on the grounds that the Party
(o) hampers technical development, (b) provokes discontent
among the workers, and (c) intrudes into its decisions certain

technique and the state

* 56 )

motives which the technicians cannot accept. It is possible that
such a conflict exists. Certain signs suggest it The Communist
Party’s fear of the saboteur is doubtless not just propaganda. But
there are not enough signs to enable us to form a judgment.

Moltchanowski presents another aspect of this alleged conflict. He
writes of a class of very bureaucratic and backward technicians,
incapable of modifying their methods to adapt them to technical
developments. Preoccupied with the realization of the plan, they
ignorantly increase the number of workers or the hours of work,
instead of increasing efficiency. The insistence on the old methods
of work paralyzes the new mechanical means and diminishes yield
even further in view of the magnitude of the labor force employed
in the upkeep of equipment. The problem then becomes: Who
ought to take responsibility for adapting the worker to the ma-
chine? Who is to educate the worker? The answer is: the local
branches of the Communist Party.

The complexity of the elements of this conflict is evident; and
it is difficult to accept without reservation the image of the tech-
nician-archangel sallying forth to do battle with the megalomaniac
and rotten politician. Nevertheless, it is probable that in the Soviet
Union, as in Nazi Germany, there is a conflict between the two
classes. But this conflict cannot be counted on to bring about a
change in the regime. As C. Wright Mills has shown, the managers
under any regime whatsoever are never anything but executive
agents. They are never in a position, publicly or institutionally, to
assert themselves against their masters. Conversely, the masters
become totally powerless without the complex (and secretly all-
powerful) managerial cadre.

In democratic regimes, there is indeed a conflict between politi-
cian and technician, but it is apparently much less acute. Two
questions arise. First, how does it come about that the conflict is
greater in the dictatorships? Second, how does it come about that
the technicians do not take the upper hand in a democracy and
overwhelm the politicians, who possess no serious means of resist-
ance? The answer to the second question enables us to dispose once
and for all of the idea that there is a natural and inevitable hostility
between politicians and technicians. As for the first question, there
is an easy reply: in a dictatorship the politician is more demanding
and makes his weight felt more heavily, so that the technicians find

The Technological Society ( 2 57

his decisions rather difficult to tolerate. But then how to explain
the fact that dictatorships make the most of the technician, sub*
mitting everything to his judgment and integrating everything into
the technical system? How to explain the fact that the ITR takes
its meaning from the five-year plan, the plan itself being a product
of politicians? How to explain the prodigious technical rise of the
Soviet Union and Nazi Germany under the sway of the politicians?
The orientation of both these regimes was technical. Why do the
technicians complain?

The answer is that the conflict is not between politicians and
technicians but among technicians of different categories. In the
dictatorships, the politician aims, successfully or unsuccessfully, to
comply with the demands of a political technique. In democratic
systems, the politician complies only with the requirements of a
technique for getting himself elected; he has an altogether inade-
quate grasp of the various technical services. He has no direct
relation to any of the innumerable technical activities. The politi-
cian in a dictatorial system, on the other hand, tends to become a
technician and ipso facto collides with other techniques.

The new political technique claims to be concerned with aU
techniques, indeed to effect a synthesis among them. Synthesis is
very likely its real function. But synthesis cannot be achieved at
the first attempt, and the claim is not easily accepted by the other
technicians. We are witnessing a crisis of adaptation. Political
technique is far from realization; it is only in its first stammering
stages. Yet it claims to be the science of synthesis, as did theology
in the Middle Ages or philosophy in the eighteenth century. When
the engineer protests against the politician's decisions, he may be
justified on the grounds that the politician is deceiving himself and
in reality is quite ignorant. But the engineer may also be ignorant
of the technical motives behind the politician's decision; the en-
gineer has no conception of the elements necessary to judge politi-
cal technique on the plane of synthesis. This is indeed a crisis of
adaptation; but precisely because adaptation is involved, the con-
flict does not lead to the overthrow of the regime.

A similar crisis, practically speaking, does not exist in democratic
systems where the attempt to form a political technique has just
begun. The English, however, have wanted for a long time to in-
troduce technique into governmental operations and thus to resolve

2 $8 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

conflicts between politicians and technicians before they become
acute. Since the eighteenth century the English have been pre-
occupied with the technique of lawmaking. In the nineteenth cen-
tury, with Arthur Seymonds and Bellanden Ken, their express goal
was the rationalization and systematization of legislative opera-
tions. Their motto was: Codification, Consolidation, Purification.
Their technical reforms resulted in the creation of offices for the
technical editing of legal projects, in uniformity of method, in the
use of marginal notes, and in the editing of r6sumes and tables.
This effort has been resumed in the last few years in Great Britain
on the ministerial level; to be able to compete with the techni-
cians, the politicians have undertaken governmental reorganization
on the Cabinet level, with a view to greater efficiency. They have
divided up their work systematically by developing numerous so-
called “standing committees,” each of which has its rigorously de-
fined specialty. The co-ordination of these committees is assured
by the Cabinet Office, an organ of great originality. The cabinet
office consists of a small group of highly trained civil servants under
the direction of a permanent secretary. Its function is to prepare
the agenda of the Cabinet and its committees and to take minutes
of the meetings. It is interesting to note that the importance of this
office is growing. The technical function which it assumes gives
it a kind of supremacy over the whole political complex.

Similarly, the United States has shown a desire to establish a
truly independent corps of political technicians as opposed to poli-
ticians, and to separate completely the political organ of decision
from the technical organ of preparation. The task of the expert is to
furnish the politician with information and estimates on which he
can base a decision. A clearly defined division of responsibility
conesponds to this functional division: that is, the expert has no
responsibility. The problem is, above all else, to maintain the in-
dependence of the technician; he must avoid pressures, involve-
ment in contests of influence, and the personal quarrels of the
members of the administration. When the technician has completed
his task, he indicates to the politicians the possible solutions and
the probable consequences — and retires.

Unfortunately, the Americans do not consider the inverse prob-
lem, which is, objectively speaking, becoming more important
When the expert has effectively performed his task of pointing out

The Technological Society (2 59

the necessary ways and means, there is generally only one logical
and admissible solution. The politician will then find himself
obliged to choose between the technician s solution, which is the
only reasonable one, and other solutions, which he can indeed try
out at his own peril but which are not reasonable. At such a moment
the politician is gambling with his responsibility since there are
such great chances of miscarriage if he adopts technically deviant
solutions. In fact, the politician no longer has any real choice; deci-
sion follows automatically from the preparatory technical labors.
Jungk even claims that in the United States, on very advanced
technical levels, unchallengeable decisions have already been
made by “electronic brains” in the service of the National Bureau
of Standards; for example, by the EAC, sumamed the “Washington
Oracle ” The EAC is said to have been the machine which made
the decision to recall General MacArthur after it had solved equa-
tions containing all the strategic and economic variables of his
plan. This example, which must be given with all possible reserva-
tions, is confirmed by the fact that the American government has
submitted to such computing devices a large number of economic
problems that border on the political. Even admitting that we are
not yet at this stage, we must recognize that every advance made
in the techniques of inquiry, administration, and organization in
itself reduces the power and the role of politics.

Consequently, the opposition between technicians and politi-
cians places the politician squarely before a truly decisive di-
lemma. Either the politician will remain what he is in a democracy,
in which case his role is fated to become less and less important in
comparison to the role of technicians of all sorts ( a state of affairs
already evident in the financial sphere); or the politician will take
the road of political technique, in which case the crisis of adapta-
tion will inevitably arise. If the politician really wishes to continue
to exist, he must choose the second solution as the only possible
one. The existence of techniques in all other spheres forces him to
this choice. Even so, little by little he is being stripped of any real
power and reduced to the role of a figurehead. These tech-
niques entail for him both the possibility and the obligation to
devolve a political technique. This does not mean dictatorship,
which is a provisional, trial form. It means, as we shall see, an
inevitable and radical transformation of the political perspective.

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

260 )

The Nazi dictatorship and Stalin’s regime ought not to be com-
pletely identified. I have already stated that Lenin was the first
man to create a political technique. For Lenin — and Stalin under-
stood this in a remarkable way — the politician was neither a
theoretician nor a chief of state in the traditional sense, but a
technician.

Lenin’s concept makes politics a technique like the others, but
actually superior to them since it is basically charged with co-
ordinating the other spheres of activity. Political decisions are
taken by virtue of technical motives, and it is this fact which dif-
ferentiates this kind of politics both from the purely doctrinaire
Communism of the left and from the older opportunism that makes
its decisions on the basis of subjective motives, impressions, and
reasonings bearing on the immediate situation and varying with
circumstance. When Stalin modified a given organization or
changed the content of a plan, he did so not under pressure of facts
but as a function of facts, by applying a precise technique. Of
course, it is possible to apply the technique badly; certain errors
may persist because the technique has not yet been fully de-
veloped. But the important thing is that the politician is forced to
follow the line laid down by the technician. This is the tendency
which has become classical in Communism, According to this
tendency, Marxism is not a doctrine but a method, a method of
thought as well as of action. This political technique is not well
understood and may not even be recognized — above all because
its ends are not clear. Is it directed toward Communism as a whole?
Or must the distinction be made, with Lenin, between strategy
( which is indeed directed toward Communism ) and tactics ( rep-
resenting the more specifically technical part, in which immediate
political problems are resolved in relation to strategy). Tactical
decisions are all made rationally to satisfy all possible technical
data arising from all co-ordinative bureaus and organisms. The
distinction between strategy and tactics enables us to understand
the most sensational zigzags of the party hue; for example, the 1937
stand against the older Communism, the 1940 pact with Nazism,
the admission in 1943 of the Church into the Communist frame-
work, the 1947 stand against “formalism,” that of 1949 against the
authors of the plan. These tactical changes can all be explained on
the basis of technical reasons of great precision; they do not repre-

The Technological Society (261

sent arbitrary decisions of hard-pressed politicians. The growing
influence of technicians was further emphasized in 1953 by the
selection of five technicians to be the five vice-presidents of the
Council of Ministers.

The problem posed by Hitlerism was very different Hitler was
a politician who made his decisions without the advice of techni-
cians, and often even despite their advice. His decisions were moti-
vated by subjective, internally generated impulses. This attitude
was the more extraordinary in that the Nazi apparatus appeared
to be among those which had best understood and applied the
fusion between state and technique. It utilized all techniques to the
maximum possible degree, reducing them unconditionally to its
service, with the exception of the borderline case of politics. Even
so, it is not always correct to assume that politics intervened hap-
hazardly. Very often, the firmest doctrines of Nazism had to
yield to technical necessities. Thus, the Nazi propaganda tech-
nique twice resorted to actions which were publicly popular but
which were at the same time completely contrary to Nazi doctrine.
One such instance was the great propaganda drive of 1935, at the
time ot the “confirmation* plebiscite: "We are more democratic
than the democracies." The plebiscite was intended to show that
the Fiihrer was the true incarnation of the people and that, conse-
quently, the Nazi regime was a real democracy, not an artificial
one, as France’s was. The second instance was the great propa-
ganda campaign in behalf of liberty: "We are defending the
liberty of European man.” These two themes, widely used but
formally opposed to the Hitler doctrine, arose from the technical
necessities of propaganda. It is also known that the financial tech-
nique of the Nazis often led them to act contrary to doctrine; for
example, in the case of Jews who were made "honorary Aryans,*
or in the case of certain capitalists who became mainstays of the
regime and were integrated into the financial organism of the
Third Reich. However, the personal political decisions of Hitler
frequently did upset the techniques of the state. The conflict was
particularly keen between Hider and the general staff; but it also
existed with the Geheim Folizei and with the organs of foreign
trade. Hitler ordered the adoption of certain measures the tech-
nicians disapproved, and after the fall of Nazism, they blamed
every difficulty and misfortune on these arbitrary decisions. In any

262 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

case, it can certainly be said that the majority of Hitler's personal
decisions were unfortunate, notably from the military point of
view.

It is clear that the future belongs not to Hitler's kind of political
action but to Stalin's. Some important political chieftains may still
bypass these techniques; but their situation appears more and more
precarious.

In the conflict between politician and technician, corruption is
a much more serious matter. Political milieus are very generally
corrupt The fact is indisputable, both in democratic regimes such
as France and the United States and in authoritarian systems such
as Fascism, Francoism, and Nazism. We cannot really speak about
the Soviet Union. The vertigo of power and the opportunity to
become rich corrupt politicians very quickly. To the degree that
the state becomes more and more technical, there is increasing
contact between politicians and technicians. Though technique
tends more and more to have primacy over politics, and technical
decisions seem unassailable by parliaments, the takeover of tech-
nique can be arrested by corruption. The technician is a man, and
in contact with corrupt men he may well allow himself to be cor-
rupted. He can sidetrack his technique, annul the decisions de-
manded by its strict application, and grant some favor or special
privilege which perverts technical action. In such an instance,
general interests ( the only true objects of politics ) no longer con-
trol technique; particular interests ( which are much more efficient
in checking technical action) do. Pure technique represents the
general interests, the true politics, and is opposed to the politician
who represents the corrupting element for private, and hence
politically nonexistent, reasons. The corruption of politicians Is the
only factor which can retard the total transformation of the state
into a gigantic, exclusively technical apparatus. Even so, the im-
petus of this movement of transformation is being intensified; and
public opinion is oriented towards its success. Public opinion, which
counts for a great deal even in authoritarian regimes, is almost
unanimously favorable to technical decisions as opposed to politi-
cal ones, which are usually described as either “partisan” or “ideal-
istic” One of the current reproaches made against politics is that
it fetters the normal activity of techniques, which the public gen-
erally considers good in themselves. Citizens become angry, for

TheT echnological Society (263

example, when they see the state holding back the development of
aviation. In case of a conflict between politician and technician, the
technician has public opinion behind him, A characteristic instance
was furnished by Spain. Spanish Fascism ought clearly to have
been censured by the democracies in 1945, as was Italian Fascism.
There were political, sentimental, and doctrinal reasons for doing
so. But the military technicians proclaimed that this would be a
disaster, and the economic technicians agreed. The United States
and Great Britain let Franco survive, and France was ridiculed
for closing the frontier. Public opinion, which, particularly after
1944, was sharply anti-Fascist, ought to have reacted favorably to
this action of the French government. Indeed, the first impulse
was to condemn Spain. But after the technicians had shown that
such a move would be harmful economically and financially (on
the plane of foreign commerce), public opinion began to shift. A
callous comparison was made between an ideological action, a
noble gesture which yielded nothing, and the judgment of the
technicians, who were demonstrating the stupidity of such an
ideology. Public opinion wavered for a time, only to turn, after
about six months, in the direction of the technicians.

Can it be said that this was a matter of personal interest? The
overwhelming majority of Frenchmen had no direct interest in the
matter; yet, it ought not to be forgotten that adherence to a tech-
nical decision is always a matter of personal interest. As for the
technicians, it may be asked why they made the judgment they
did. Clearly because they were applying their technical instru-
ment, in which generous or sentimental motives had no place. The
technicians as technicians told us that the closing of the frontier
was disastrous; as men, they might have approved of the action
for ideological reasons. It is not at all certain that technicians are
still capable of making humane judgments; that, however, is an-
other question.

The transformation of the state and the consequent predomi-
nance of technicians involves two elements. First, the technician
considers the nation very differently from the politician. For the
technician, the nation is essentially an affair to be managed, for
(rightly) he remains imbued with the private origin of technique;
as a consequence, the private and the public spheres are poorly
delimited. All that the technician can take into account is the ap-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

264)

plication of his instruments — whether in the service of the state or
of something else is of small importance. For him, the state is not
the expression of popular will, or a creation of God, or the essence
of humanity, or a modality of the class war. It is an enterprise with
certain services which ought to function properly. It is an enter-
prise which ought to be profitable, yield a maximum of efficiency,
and have the nation for its working capital.

The influence of the technician on the state does not reside solely
in the conditions he imposes through his administrative decisions
or in the schema of good organization he drawls up. It resides also
in the judgments he makes concerning governmental and adminis-
trative efficiency. I have discussed the transformation of the system
of public accounting. A new and remarkable example of this is
furnished by the Netherlands. The problem there is to evaluate the
efficiency of governmental services as a function of their cost
prices. Every organization, w^e are told, must in principle establish
a valid relation among men, ends, and means in respect to their
productive efficiency. Productivity, which seemed heretofore to be
a purely economic concept, has made its appearance in the last
few years in the political framework. It is necessary to evaluate
the cost of every administrative operation and to apply the law of
marginal yield. Funds are assigned to each department on the
basis of a standard cost established through service. By introducing
modern double-entry bookkeeping, it is possible to carry out a
constant inspection of activities on every level and to establish the
relation between actual and standard expenses. In this way, the
law of the technician transforms the administrative perspective.
Every administration becomes an object, as formerly the worker
became an object in Taylor’s hands. Politics assigns the goal; but
the technician dictates the means to the last dot We have a detailed
description of this orientation in Gabriel Ardant’sbook.

The entire administration is only a machine whose operations
must become more and more rigorous. In this way, that ideal theo-
retical situation is attained in which, to use the words of James K.
Feely, Jr, the “margin of chance between intention and realization*
is almost nil. For, according to Feely, the smaller this margin be-
comes, the more a check on execution appears possible, and the
more the coefficient of predictability is increased. Such a situation
would give maximum security in all the different administrative

The Technological Society ( 2 6 5

units, and what Feely proposed as a theoretical ideal becomes prac-
tical. The only price tag on its attainment is the conversion of the
administration into an apparatus, the civil servants into objects,
and the nation into a supplier of working capital.

The nation becomes the object of the technical state in that it
furnishes all the different kinds of material substratum: men,
money, economy, and so on. The state becomes a machine de-
signed to exploit the means of the nation. The relation between
state and natipn is henceforth completely different from what it
had been before. The nation is no longer primarily a human, geo-
graphic, and historical entity. It is an economic power whose re-
sources must be put to work, and to which a “yield” must be re-
turned. In connection with this yield, the older technicians used
the term maximum but the newer ones use the term optimum.
Maximum yield is yield that exhausts and debases the resources
of the state in a short interval of time; optimum yield is yield that
attempts to safeguard substance and vitality, the typical example
being the TV A. However this may be, we must regard the nation
as an entity whose total resources are to be brought into action
precisely because all the different techniques, mutually condition-
ing one another, have come into play. Once the technician has
commenced his operations, he cannot recognize any limits. He
cannot esteem or respect anything in the nation except the “nature
of things.” This promotes the greater coherence of the state-nation
which is so characteristic of our times.

What is true on the national level is also true on the level of
international organization. In view of the radical setbacks experi-
enced by the political organisms designed to foster international
agreement, it was decided to entrust further exploration along these
lines to a group of technicians. It was believed that international
consideration of the areas to be exploited, rather than purely na-
tional interests, would be more propitious to an entente. Thus, in
1949 a great assemblage consisting of 550 scientists and technicians
opened its deliberations at Lake Success to consider how best to
exploit the world’s natural resources. International projects of this
kind are much less advanced than similar intranational projects,
and the reactions of politicians to the technicians are correspond-
ingly more enthusiastic. This was evident at the 1949 Strasbourg
assembly of the Organisation Europ&nne de Cooperation 6co-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

266)

nomique, a purely technical group. The Americans were of the
opinion that this organization did not progress as quickly as the
technical situation permitted. We are witnesses at the inception,
on the international level, of the same “takeover” by the technicians
which we have already observed on the national level.

The second element implied in the transformation of the state
and the predominance of the technician is the progressive suppres-
sion of ideological and moral barriers to technical progress. The
old techniques of the state were a compound of purely technical
elements and moral elements such as justice. The moral elements
are not completely negligible even today, although they by no
means occupy the place of honor accorded them in official dis-
course. The techniques employed by private persons are usually
techniques in a pure state, and contain no admixture of moral ele-
ments. (We shall see later on that this is no random fact, but the
result of the very nature of technique. ) The state is charged not
only with maintaining respect for law and order but also with
establishing just relations among its citizens. It therefore imposes
limits on the pure technique of private persons. Thus, from the
beginning, the liberal state forbade the free manufacture of ex-
plosives and substances pernicious to health. On a higher plane, it
struggled by means of antitrust laws {as in The United States)
against the trust, an economic organization notorious for social
injustice. It also established labor legislation limiting the abuse of
the workers by mechanical techniques. In the area of justice, the
state has been a barrier and a check against private technical
abuses. But when technique became state technique, when techni-
cal instrumentalities passed into the hands of the state, did the
state adhere to its old wisdom? Experience must answer in the
negative. The techniques, to which the state opposed checks when
they were in the hands of private persons, become unchecked for
the state itself. There is no self-limitation in this respect,

The English state forbade traffic in narcotics but made wide use
of them in India and China. An omnipotent state, Fascist or Com-
munist, ceases to respect laws made for the protection of labor.
(The Communist state proclaims this to be a provisional solution
pending the establishment of the dictatorship of the proletariat;
but we can make no judgment of future events. ) This is not merely

The Technological Society ( 2 6 7

a case of princeps legibus solutus est ,* but something much more
profound. The state is the only barrier between men and the
techniques of individuals, but it ceases to be a barrier when tech-
nique, increasing geometrically, encounters the ancient raison
d'etat. 1 * 3 This last, which perhaps has nothing to do with the nature
of the state, has nevertheless existed almost continuously through-
out history. But the raison detat never possessed the means to
express itself. It operated sporadically and incoherently and its
decisions often miscarried. It remained more an intention than a
reality but was always latently there. Primarily, it represented the
justification by the state of itself. It was the negation of morality
by the state. But the means at the disposal of the state were them-
selves subject to a strong moral influence. They were consequently
neither technically nor morally adapted to the raison d'etat , which
was deprived of any force without these arms.

The French Parliament under absolute monarchy, or the French
administration under the Restoration, for example, were not
adapted to this objective. But when new techniques refined the
old ones, the old ones lost their internal curbs. The state then found
itself in possession of means agreeable to the raison d'etat. As soon
as it had these means, it applied them without hesitation because
it entertained no doubts at all as to the excellence of its ends. At
the same time other techniques, the result of the activity of indi-
viduals and until then restrained by the state, came into the hands
of the state, which well understood their usefulness for realizing
its constant objective. How could the state be expected not to
exploit a judiciary without independence and a police without any
faculty of judgment? But the most noteworthy fact in this compli-
cated development is that henceforth the raison detat could only
be the expression of the multiplicity of techniques which it had
employed to realize itself.

Technique and Constitution. French administration remained, un-
til about 1940, as Napoleon had created it in 1800. It had, of
course, undergone certain modifications in detail; there had even
been certain reversions to pre-Napoleonic practices. But no serious

1 “The prince is not bound by the laws.** ( Trans. )

8 The state's "higher” interests, which may be invoked as an excuse for state action

contrary to justice or its own laws. ( Trans. )

268 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

changes had taken place either in orientation or in structure.
Constitutional monarchy, monarchy with absolutistic tendencies,
bourgeois and socialist republics, the Empire — these French re-
gimes all accepted or suffered Napoleon’s instrument because it
was a good one. There is no doubt that one of the gravest prob-
lems of the Third Republic, if one seldom explicitly considered,
was that an administration created by and for an authoritarian
state should be in the service of a state which wished to be thought
liberal. This is the situation of the state today in all areas. Only
with difficulty can the technical apparatus be varied; only with
difficulty can it be employed in one way rather than in another.

To take a simple example : it matters little, in driving an automo-
bile, whether the regime be republican or Fascist. Techniques are
becoming less and less material, and really important differences
from state to state tend to fade progressively away. A given state
technique must be exercised on its own terms, though the political
opinions of successive ministers differ. This continuity can be ex-
pressed in terms of the dictatorship of bureaus. It explains the
often-noted fact that socialist ministers, once in power, act in all
countries very much as did their nonsocialist predecessors. This
is the result not of so-called Marxist treachery or of weakness of
character, but of the specific weight of techniques. Ardant, in his
book on the technique of the state, emphasizes that there is a tech-
nique of state that no regime, whatever its nature, can do without.

Every statesman is faced with the dilemma, either he must apply
these techniques on their own invariable terms, or he must re-
nounce them and forego the results they tend to produce. We
must not lose sight of the fact that techniques furnish the best
possible means, each in its own sphere. A country’s economic min-
ister will be forced to plan the economy or abandon it to anarchy.
We have already studied the unfeasibility of a half -planned econ-
omy or of planning which contents itself with making recommenda-
tions. Technique will not tolerate half measures.

What is true of a political personality — a minister, for example —
is in part true of a political regime. It makes little difference
whether or not the constitution provides for a separation of powers,
for one or more chamber, or for a democracy on the model of East
or of West. From the technical point of view the results will be
very nearly the same. Any type of administration other than that

The Technological Society (269

which is technically the most efficient is impossible. A different
financial regime is also an impossibility. In the case of taxes, for
example, it is said that a rightist regime will favor indirect taxes
that bear hardest on the general population because this popula*
tion represents the “masses,” but that a socializing regime will
favor direct taxes that bear hardest on the great fortunes. This only
shows that a scientific tax technique is not being applied. It seems
incontestable that such a rigorous technique, in view of the yields
it can produce, will in the end carry the day. There is an optimum
tax structure which can be completely determined. It gives the best
yield to the state, and at the same time equalizes the fortunes of
the citizens and saves the fiscal substance. There is no valid reason
for not implementing it. This optimal system is making headway
in all states and is gradually overcoming the associated and ad-
ventitious ideological motives.

In the same way, planning imposes itself little by little on every
regime. It is ideologically puerile to profess to see differences be-
tween Soviet and Nazi planning. Planning is not reserved to au-
thoritarian states. Democratic states which tend toward socialism,
such as France or Britain after 1945, or nonsocializing democratic
states such as Denmark, today employ the system of planning.
Even states which are completely liberal, such as South Africa, are
engaged in planning, This does not mean that the whole economy
is necessarily planned; it means that the technique of planning is
making headway even in political systems unfavorable to it
Whether it is a question of an immigration plan, an export plan, a
transport plan, or a city -planning operation, the same technique
is involved.

Planning is being extended to all domains of political life as well
as to all state regimes. In 1951, Chancellor Adenauer declared
that German youth had not responded to the efforts of the regime,
that the youth were anarchic and disorganized, that it was impos-
sible to have any hopes for them, and that planning represented
the sole means of reintegrating this wayward youth into the Ger-
man community. He announced that a German Youth Plan was
being elaborated to cope with the necessity of bringing youth into
rigid organizations, giving youth an ideal and a collective soul,
discipline and a fixed way of life. Adenauer went on to say that
all this had to be planned. In a way, he was suggesting a return

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

270)

to totalitarian methods. France in 1952 took steps to provide plan-
ning for scholarships and tourism. In 1956 it planned youth or-
ganizations, and in i960 sports. It is to be noted that planning is
becoming more and more widespread in the United States, where
there is a tendency to apply it not only to economic problems but
also to social (for example, city planning) and political questions.
Indeed, American planning is becoming a basic element; it is no
longer an accidental fact or a mere adjunct. In the United States
there are nearly two thousand planning organisms in the service
of the various states, not to mention national organisms, some of
which are public (The Council of Economic Advisors) and some
private ( The National Planning Association ) .

We must not lose sight of the fact that nations are more and
more closely connected. Moreover, when one nation engages in
planning, there is an inevitable repercussion on the others; they are
more or less obliged to engage in planning too. And the planning
of one element implies first the understanding, then the mastery of
many others, and little by little the planning of these others. It is
not possible to establish a plan for a small comer of the economy
and permit all the rest of the economy to remain free. Gaston
Bardet has shown that good city planning requires the mobiliza-
tion of the entire economy. Then, it will be said, the best thing is
not to do any city planning at all. But planning cannot possibly
be avoided; the explosive increase in t^e population means that
no one will have any living space unless the area at our disposal
is organized rationally. Moreover, certain inconveniences of urban
life are daily becoming more serious; for example, traffic density,
air pollution, and excessive noise. None of these problems can be
effectively resolved except by means of a truly regulative plan.
In the last few years, numerous medical and administrative con-
gresses have of necessity been concerned with this cluster of prob-
lems.

Similar problems are raised by immigration. No country is today
in a position to allow free movement in or out: free movement
would result in excessive population displacement in the direction
of countries with high wages or political stability. Conversely,
countries with dictatorial regimes would see their populations
dwindle, a state of affairs they would not welcome since it means
diminution of power. Democratic countries would see an exag-

The T echnologicd Society (271

gerated rise in their populations, which they certainly do not de-
sire because of the danger to their economic equilibrium and the
risk of a fifth column. What is to be done? Put a complete stop to
population displacement? Such a solution is neither possible nor
desirable for reasons of manpower and colonization. But this pre-
supposes a plan for immigration, subject moreover to international
agreement. Immigration planning will be identical whether we
have to do with a dictatorship or a democracy. It will require
identical police, economic, and administrative mechanisms. Present-
day democracies cannot escape these technical necessities.

These examples help us grasp the fact that the structures of the
modem state and its organs of government are subordinate to the
techniques dependent on the state . If we were to consider in turn
each of the indispensable services of the modem state, we would
find that they are becoming more and more alike, regardless of the
theories of government under which they operate. We must insist
on the more and more ; the final identity has not yet been achieved
There is no greater similarity among the techniques of the state
than among mechanical techniques. There are backward countries
with respect to both. But the direction of the evolution is plain,
and there is, practically speaking, no way of arresting it. We shall
see why.

The supremacy of technical instruments is a result of their exact
correspondence to social necessities. When society did not have
constantly to appeal to the state, when problems of all kinds were
not as numerous or acute as they are today, the state was relatively
free with respect to its instruments. In spite of all the worthy per-
sons who reassure themselves by saying that all historical epochs
are alike, that the crises of the fourth century resembled those of
the ninth, and so on, the fact is that no one ever before saw world
economies, world wars, or world and national populations which,
on the average, double every forty-five years. The state is no longer
in a position to reject the most efficient means possible. Its prob-
lems are more difficult and complicated than any ever encountered
before. If the state desires to have an effect on society (and it has
no alternative), there is only one way to have this effect. Parlia-
mentary discussions, the hesitance of theoreticians, the protesta-
tions of humanists, democratic elections — all of these signify very
little. The state has no more real choice than the worker on the

tJ2 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

assembly line; it is led to the technical society by the very terms
of the problem.

Let us consider two examples. The concentration camp is gen-
erally taken as characteristic of dictatorial and Fascistic regimes.
Such institutions undeniably exist in the Soviet Union, Poland, and
Bulgaria. But they existed in France under the Third Republic and
in England during the Boer War. We must not be misled by dif-
ferences in name. Work camps, re-education camps, refugee camps
— all represent the same fact. And we are only too aware of how
important the use of concentration camps was in Algeria. We are
speaking here of the concentration camp in its pure form, which
has nothing to do with crematoria or hanging up the inmates by
the thumbs. Such tortures are imputable to men, not to technique.
The camp as an institution is making its appearance everywhere,
under the most varied political regimes, as a result of the conjunc-
tion of social problems and police technique. The terms of the
problem can be enumerated in this way: given the nationalistic
organization and conversely the existence of fifth columns, given
the administrative character of the supervision of territory and the
population expansion, it is absolutely necessary to establish a police
power based not on individuals but on categories of individuals.
There is no way of escaping the establishment of police power by
categories — which implies, for example, preventive arrest, con-
centration of masses of innocent persons not for judging but for
sorting, and so forth. To effect sorting and checking operations,
highly perfected systems have been developed, as, for example,
the MVD in the Soviet Union, the FBI in the United States, and
the CIC in occupied Germany. Such systems, obviously, often re-
quire a considerable length of time for their operations. Suspects
may be detained for years before the system finishes its investiga-
tions, Its precision and rigor cause it to move slowly. The technical
system of concentration camps has proved so efficient and satis-
factory to the state that it is increasingly being incorporated into
our society. It no longer represents the activity of aberrant dicta-
tors, but rather the activity of every good administrator.

The concentration-camp system of today is closely linked to the
nationalistic state. But it fits so well into administrative systems in
general that there is no chance of its disappearing, even if the
nationalistic structure of the modern world were to change. Certain

The Technological Society (273

categories of undesirables would remain, social misfits for whom
the camp is the ideal solution, at least until a more efficient tech-
nique allows the resolution of the problem at even less expense.
But it is highly improbable that this will happen in the near future.

The second example is the system of sales engineering, originally
conceived in the United States to facilitate private commerce
within the country. Now the system exists on the level of inter-
national commerce under state direction. There are firms which
specialize in psychological and sociological prospecting of markets,
The products of one nation cannot be sold on the markets of
others unless they meet certain conditions, not only of manufacture
but of design and usefulness. It would be clearly inefficient to ship
products abroad which one knew in advance would not sell. It is
said that there is not a single American firm which would dare
launch a new product, even a hairpin, and itself assume responsi-
bility for design, color, etc. The firm takes its problem to one of the
three or four large industrial-design consultants whose job it is to
give to the object in question its optimum external appearance,
that is, the appearance which best suits the public taste.

This approach to consumer research is recognized by American
producers as the only correct one. It is nevertheless freely chosen.
As soon as commerce becomes international, however, it enters
more or less into the province of the state. The problem might
then be how a nation with a foreign trade deficit could wipe it out.
To accomplish this, it must comply with the law of the creditor's
market One of the organizations described would have to be con-
sulted, and what was hitherto choice based on interest then be-
comes obligatory. Once more we see that a technically backward
nation is forced to model itself after the most advanced nation as
soon as organic relations are established between the two. The
situation is not due to American desire to dominate or to American
pride. It is a technical situation. There is one and only one efficient
method for establishing a system of international commerce, and
it is necessary to comply with this method, no matter what the
view of the state. Of course, the state could conceivably choose
to go bankrupt. . . .

I have taken two examples as different as possible in order to
emphasize the degree to which technical facts act upon the state
in all areas.

technique and the state

* 74 )

But the facts lead us further. State constitutions do not alter the
use of techniques, but techniques do act rather rapidly on state
structures. They subvert democracy and tend to create a new
aristocracy. Almost all sociologists are in agreement here; it is suffi-
cient to refer to the writings of Georges Friedmann to be con-
vinced of the unanimity which exists on this point even among
sociologists with the most pronouncedly democratic and socialist
leanings. Political equality becomes a myth — unattainable through
the agency of technique. On the contrary, technique, to an ever
greater degree, produces on the technical level a majority of serv-
ants and a minority of governors. Friedmann has studied the matter
scientifically and has shown in a completely nonpartisan way that
the worker-slaves are reduced to the lowest possible human
value when their functions are specialized to completely particular
tasks. We see in this phenomenon of specialization what technique
makes of man in the aggregate. For example, the precision of police
mechanisms makes it possible to train a good policeman in a few
weeks. But the man so trained has no knowledge at all of the
techniques within which he works. Men are shifted unceasingly
from job to job, never attaining a true calling; they are vocationally
downgraded by technique. But a vocation is a major part of life
and culture. Under these circumstances, even a pervasive culture
rapidly disappears.

We must also consider the influence of agricultural techniques
which result in the exhaustion of certain types of soils while medi-
cal techniques lead to overpopulation. The interaction of these two
factors brings about the creation of masses of underdeveloped hu-
man beings who are considered by some as unfit for democracy
because they are incapable of reacting with the necessary speed
to the problems of life.

In contrast to this mob there is a limited elite that understands
the secrets of their own techniques, but not necessarily of all tech-
niques. These men are close to the seat of modem governmental
power. The state is no longer founded on the “average citizen” but
on the ability and knowledge of this elite. The average man is al-
together unable to penetrate technical secrets or governmental or-
ganization and consequently can exert no influence at all on the
state.

The Technological Society (2 75

Friedmann, in order to do something constructive about this
downgraded and overspecialized manpower, has put his hopes in
the evolution of socialism, which, by giving man the feeling of
socialist brotherhood and the consciousness of working for the
common good, would give him pleasure in his work. But this psy-
chological remedy (whose value I am not trying to deny) could
do nothing at all to bridge the gap between the intellectual in-
capacity of the mob of specialized workers on the one hand and
the monopoly of technical means by a technical elite on the other.
The new elite is an elite even when it is popular with the people.
This split is obvious in all domains. For example, in the administra-
tive domain, the intervention of a technique of organization and
mechanization results in the creation, as Mas puts it, * of two classes
very far removed from one another. The first, numerically small,
understands the means to conceive, organize, direct and control;
the second, infinitely more numerous, is composed of mere execu-
tants . . .” The latter are hacks who understand nothing of the
complicated techniques they are carrying out It is not conceivable
that the normal operation of democracy would be acceptable to
those who exercise this technical monopoly— which, moreover, is
a hidden monopoly in the sense that its practitioners are unknown
to the masses.

Technique shapes an aristocratic society, which in turn implies
aristocratic government, Democracy in such a society can only be
a mere appearance. Even now, we see in propaganda the premises
of such a state of affairs. When it comes to state propaganda, there
is no longer any question of democracy.

Let us consider ordinary propaganda as it occurs in republican
countries. It is innocently said that since there is a plurality of
parties and propaganda machines they counterbalance one an-
other. The elector is therefore free to make a real choice between
rival candidates. However, certain persons, perhaps no less in-
nocently, claim to be able to mathematicize everything. Specifi-
cally, the propaganda which is most technical, the most skillful
and urgent, gets the greatest number of votes. As far as I am con-
cerned, neither of these positions in itself perverts democracy.
What does is the very accumulation of propaganda techniques, the
very deployment of technical means for exerting pressure. It is not

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

276)

true that two opposed propaganda apparatuses cancel each other
out Or rather, it may be true politically, but it is false psycho-
logically.

The real problem lies in the psychological situation of the in-
dividual assailed by a number of equally skillful propagandas act-
ing upon his nervous system, and now, with the discovery of new
methods, probing and disturbing his unconscious, working over
his intelligence, and exacerbating his reactions. The individual can
no longer live except in a climate of tension and overexcitement.
He can no longer be a smiling and skeptical spectator. He is indeed
* en g a g e cl>" but involuntarily so, since he has ceased to dominate his
own thoughts and actions. Techniques have taught the organizers
how to force him into the game. He has been stripped of his power
of judgment. If he has not been "fixed” in advance, he oscillates
at random, in obedience not to his own power of judgment but to
the law of large numbers. The intensive use of propaganda de-
stroys the citizen's faculty of discernment In a truly democratic
regime, everything rests on judicious choice and free will. But it
is precisely in democracies that propaganda machines proliferate.
Where only a single propaganda machine exists, that of the state,
it conditions individuals directly and could not be really intensive
since there is no competition. In the so-called democracies, propa-
ganda must become more and more intense in order to* dominate
its rivals. It becomes thereby more and more insidious.

Thus, technique disturbs immediately the operation of a democ-
racy. It leads public opinion in one direction only, because the
means at the disposal of a state directed by a technical aristocracy
are generally more powerful than those at the disposal of parties.
The very presence of technique, therefore, poses a grave problem.

But for every political system a further problem arises: the
changing variety of available machines, which entails the disor-
dering of traditional strategic and tactical military conceptions. It
is of course possible to concoct grand theories on the art of war
and strategic doctrines, to organize armies in accordance with
philosophic principles, and so on. But one factor always upsets
everything: the machine. The machine has in fact conditioned
modern strategy. Hitler, because he understood this, achieved cer-
tain successes. The technical problem can be simply stated: given
a certain machine, how can it be used most efficiently? What ac-

The Technological Society {*77

tions concerning logistics, liaison, and co-ordination of weapons
must be taken? What plan must be created to make optimal use of
the machine? And so on. For example, the tank conditioned com-
bat between 1939 and 1943. Today aircraft, guided missiles, and
intercontinental rockets are of major inportance. But beyond the
effect of technique on strategy, the changing machinery of war
forces political choice. The United States, in a Congressional re-
port (1949), recognized that because of the rapid advance of
technique it was no longer in a position to pay for complete arma-
ment — for a land army with an unlimited number of vehicles of
every type, plus a navy and an air force. The military aircraft of
1946 were already out of date by 1949. It seemed impossible to
continue the construction of machines by the thousands which
would never see service and would so soon be outmoded. A politi-
cal choice had to be made.

Similarly, Britain abandoned most of its prototypes in order to
devote itself to constructing a unique kind of army judged to be
decisive. The fact of forced political choice was confirmed by the
distribution of military tasks Among continental Europe, the United
States, and Great Britain as a consequence of the Atlantic Pact.
With further developments, it became necessary to seek new
modes of financing to support the burden of a military technique
distributed as described. This reminds us of the interdependence
of techniques in general and in particular of the influence of tech-
nique on military concepts and through this on political choice. In
this connection, recall Be van's biting remark in one of his last lec-
tures: "The techniques of modem war have destroyed democ-
racy" This is precisely our point.

Let us reason by analogy. In the same way that military machines
condition strategy, organizational and other techniques condition
the structure of the modem state. Wiener was not speaking idly
when he said that the different systems of broadcasting and air-
transport networks make a world state inevitable. Technique puts
the question, not whether a given state form is more just, but
whether it permits more efficient utilization of techniques. The
state is no longer caught between political reality and moral theo-
ries and imperatives. It is caught between political reality and
technical means. The problem is to find the state form most ade-
quate to the application of the techniques the state has at its dis-

278 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

posal. Doubtless, it is free to prefer a certain doctrine and to look
with disfavor on a given technique. It is free to dream of the reali-
zation of a certain kind of justice rather than to make use of tech-
nical means. But then it must expect almost inevitable retribution
such as the French Army suffered in 1940. Our generals had their
doctrine and their military conceptions, but they neglected the in-
fluence of the machine — a heroic example, it was said, of getting
yourself killed at the outposts of progress. Face to face with techni-
cal efficiency, the state owes it to itself to give this efficiency free
rein. Ardant has written: “Good methods bring about good struc-
tures.”

These factors doom parliamentary government, which is bur-
dened with considerable excess baggage which hinders technical
progress: the numerous persons involved in decision making, the
ponderousness and slowness of democratic mechanisms, the com-
plete inability of a representative assembly to apply political tech-
nique, the frequent turnover in parliamentary personnel in contrast
to the stability of the technicians in the service of the administra-
tion, etc. As a result of these factors, technical advance gradually
invades the state, which in turn is compelled to assume forms and
adopt institutions favorable to this advance. The importance of
“commissions** in French parliamentary life is already recognized,
and, it might be added, these commissions have clearly got out of
hand. In the United States the system of lobbyists ( a group of in-
dividuals who hang about the corridors of Congress) assures liai-
son between the legislative organ and the technical organ. All the
great American corporations and technical groups have representa-
tives accredited to Washington who are charged with looking after
the interests (not necessarily in the capitalist sense) of the groups
they represent in the legislative branch. The system is perfectly
legal in the United States and allows the retention of some connec-
tion between politicians (who are more and more detached from
reality ) and the technical conditions of life. Such institutions rep-
resent very weak modes of adaptation. It is certain that the mod-
ern state will eventually be compelled to total adaptation. Total
adaptation may come about through a revolution, such as the one
which created the Hitler state. It may be, however, that the con-
stitution will not undergo even the slightest of alterations and that
the whole problem will be reduced to the elimination of political

The Technological Society ( *79

powers, which will have become purely formal, a mere matter of
show. The conclusion seems unavoidable that this is the road upon
which our democracies have already entered.

But if the state adapts itself completely to technical necessities
and becomes nothing but a huge machine, will it still be recogniz-
ably a state? Let us first of all remark that the question in no sense
presupposes a theory of a technological state. Things happen today
in the political sphere without the benefit of the minutest theory.
There is no longer any question of a state in the classic sense. To
think otherwise is a laughable error on the part of the majority of
those who talk about the state, bf they philosophers, theologians,
publicists, politicians, or professors of constitutional law. They are
speaking of the state in terms and forms appropriate to the state of
the nineteenth century, or to that of Napoleon. The situation today
is radically different.

The political power is no longer precisely a classical state, and it
will be less and less so. It is an amalgam of organizations with a
greatly reduced organism for making decisions, reduced because,
in the interplay of techniques, decision making has less and less
place. The situation is comparable to the elimination by an auto-
matic machine of the individual, who retains no function except
that of inspecting the machine and seeing that it remains in work-
ing order; the political power is like any well-adjusted organization
which functions with a minimum of decision making. Such an or-
ganization is not too rigid and knows of itself how to adapt to cur-
rent problems. We are admittedly not yet in this situation, but we
are rapidly approaching it. 4 This is the state form which Lenin
forecast for the socialist world. "The state/* he said, "will be re-
duced to census taking and statistics.” Lenin of necessity described
the future role of the state in a very summary fashion; the tech-
niques of organization were not yet developed in 1920. But what
he discerned is exactly what we observe in outline today behind

* We shall not consider here M machines for evaluating military situations and de-
termining the best action." These machines are no mere fantasy. Wiener, Shannon,
and Morgenstern — among the elite of American mathematicians — are working on
such a machine and speak of it as "imminent.’* Wiener even thinks that this will
lead to a machine to evaluate political situations. Cybernetic devices will make
die state conduct politics as one plays a game of chess. If this apocalyptic possibility
is realized, we clearly cannot foresee the consequences for the state. We therefore
shall not consider the hypothesis.

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

tBo )

the old-fashioned republican mask. It is not necessary that such a
society be socialist What seems to be important is that the state
Lenin foresaw and the purely technological state which modern
organizations imply are in fact identical.

That such a state is socialist is debatable. That it is technical (a
statement not intended as a theory) is not debatable. At this very
moment, technical synthesis could bring about the total elimination
of the state in the traditional sense. The framework in which society
exists could get along well enough without the traditional state, and
perhaps even do better without it. The technological state corre-
sponds directly to modem society itself since it is technically con-
structed and exists in the very soul of men who worship efficiency,
order, and speed. The classical state corresponds to vanished forces
of an entirely different nature.

Technique and Political Doctrines . The structure of the state is
not the only thing modified by technique; political doctrines are
modified too.

We note, first of all, that the same thing holds for political doc-
trines as for political structures, that some are adapted to technical
usage and some are not. In general, the new doctrines (those, for
example, of the people's democracies, which it would be stupid to
lump together naively as “Stalinist") are so adapted. “No freedom
for the enemies of freedom”; “Only the worker is a citizen”; “the
state guarantees freedom; the stronger the state, the more freedom
is guaranteed.” These slogans are representative of an idea which is
becoming prevalent. Doctrinal elements coincide exactly with the
development of state techniques; doctrine expresses the social
situation exactly and is therefore vital. It is believed in by a large
number of citizens; it tends toward effective application and pos-
sesses a contagious force. On the other hand, the doctrines of tra-
ditional democracy — the rights of man, the abstract conception of
the citizen, equality in voting, the clash between power and liberty
— are not adapted to modern social reality. For this reason, we are
witnessing the rapid sclerosis and obsolescence of these doctrines;
and it is becoming harder and harder to defend them. Public opin-
ion no longer holds with them, except possibly among the Ameri-
cans, who seem still to believe in individual freedom, a somewhat
theoretic concept. But democratic peoples as a whole are more at-
tached to traditions than to precise doctrines. Democratic doctrine

The Technological Society (281

Is, in any case, unadapted to technical progress, a fact which lobs
it of any compelling force or power to make new conquests.

Documents such as the United Nations Declaration of Human
Rights mean nothing to a mankind surrounded by techniques. It is
our responsibility to study man's situation vis-i-vis techniques and
not vis-a-vis some no longer existent force. No one gets worked up
about declarations which may be violated with impunity, whether
by private enterprise (as exemplified by the attitude of employers
on the subject of strikes in 1948) or by the state itself (as in the
case of the law of September 15, 1948, concerning war crimes, a di-
rect violation of the declaration of rights).

Technique has rendered traditional democratic doctrines obso-
lete. This should be regarded as a normal situation, for no political
doctrine is eternal. When situations change, doctrines must change
too. Evolution is necessary, whether it takes place under the in-
fluence of technique or in some other way. But one fact does seem
new: what is in question is not merely a change of doctrine; politi-
cal doctrine is being called upon to play a fundamentally different
role. In the nineteenth century, political doctrine was strongly pre-
scriptive and constitutive; this was consonant both with the whole
idealist and romantic movement and with the belief in progress.
Men were convinced of the omnipotence of ideas and were pre-
pared to put into action doctrines which appeared to them to be
just. Doctrinal motives played a role of prime importance in the
Revolution of 1789. Napoleon I was disgraced because of his lack
of doctrine, a deficiency which Napoleon III sought to overcome.
Republics and even monarchies were anxious to apply that doc-
trine which was most just. Political doctrine, whatever its content,
established an end to be attained. It represented the best form of
government, founded in reason (rather than in history) and in phi-
losophy. The problem was to realize the ideal. Doctrine was the
criterion of action; it was the judge not so much of whether the ac-
tion was well or ill done as of whether the action was valid with re-
spect to the doctrine itself. Even Marx was of this mind; for him
also, doctrine represented the end and criterion of action. Mani-
festly, doctrine dominated political life; it was no mere conceit but
a reality.

With the introduction of technical development into the life of
the state, the situation becomes completely different; doctrine is

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

282 )

merely explicative and justifying. It no longer represents the end;
the end is defined by the autonomous operation of techniques. It is
no longer the criterion of action; the sole criterion of action consists
in knowing whether or not technique has been correctly used, and
no political theory can tell us that.

Political doctrine, since about 1914, works in this way: the state
is forced by the operation of its own proper techniques to form its
doctrine of government on the basis of technical necessities. These
necessities compel action in the same way that techniques permit
it. Political theory comes along to explain action in its ideological
aspect and in its practical aspect (frequently without indicating its
purely technical motives). Finally, political doctrine intervenes to
justify action and to show that it corresponds to ideals and to moral
principles. The man of the present feels a great need for justifica-
tion. He needs the conviction that his government is not only effi-
cient but just. Unfortunately, efficiency is a fact and justice a
slogan.

We conclude that the political doctrine of today is a rationalizing
mechanism for justifying the state and its actions and is the source
of the dangerous intellectual acrobatics indulged in by official jour-
nalists and statesmen. Sometimes the preoccupation of these gen-
tlemen is to square some totally unjust action with democratic
principles, A good example of this was the British intervention of
1944 in Greece as a function of the Yalta agreements. This interven-
tion resulted in the crushing of a popular movement (represented
by ELAS and EAM ) under the pretext of organizing a Western-
style democracy. Sometimes the aim of these men is to create a
judicial doctrine in order to justify purely pragmatic action. The
masterpiece of this species of rationalization was the theory of
“trusteeship.” Judicially, the theory was extremely well constructed,
but its application led the United States inevitably to occupy the
Japanese islands while forbidding the Soviet Union to occupy any
enemy colony whatever. The direction of this “theory” is clearly
visible. All the theories concerning “crimes against humanity” are
of this order; the charge of genocide is in fact the judicial justifica-
tion of the need to condemn the vanquished as war criminals.

The French Constitution of 1958 is another example of this tend-
ency; it was devised to justify a de facto situation. The Commu-
nists, however, are the real virtuosi of this genre. They have re-

The Technological Society (283

moved all the bones from Marxist doctrine and reduced it to a
method. Once this is achieved, no contradiction between doctrine
and action is possible. Take, for instance, the Soviet doctrine of
the necessity of the "national stage* in the development of all
peoples, a doctrine intended to justify Soviet intervention in Africa.
All Soviet actions are a consequence of their method, which, being
at the same time a doctrine, serves to justify action.

The only real problem, then, is to know whether action has been
effective by virtue of the correct application of method. The prob-
lem thus becomes purely technical. In ordinary democratic govern-
ments, the unity of doctrine and method resolves all contradictions
that show themselves as bad conscience. Nowadays, it is enough if
fidelity to method is assured — this fidelity, as all techniques, is
tested by results — for justification to be assured also. Justification,
no doubt, only in the eyes of those who already believe in the doc-
trine. It is illusory to think that political doctrine can justify action
in an objective way, erga omnes. The adversary is never really
taken in by this "justification,* although he may well accept it, since
he uses it himself.

This transformation of the role of political doctrine demonstrates
the complete vanity of present-day political theories. When we see
such theoreticians as Max Glass or Ropke proposing a new world
structure to resolve all problems, or a new political regime to satisfy
all exigencies, we stand confounded before such innocence (in the
etymological sense of the word ) . These political innocents always
suppose that theories have educational force, that mobs can bestir
themselves to apply principles, and that ideal doctrines will be-
come ends. The plain truth is that such opinions have been over-
taken and left behind.

The role of doctrines is fixed with precision by political technique,
and since nothing else can stem the tide of history or of techniques,
there is no room for the supposition that political doctrines will
change roles in the near future. Because of the vanity of their pre-
tentions, our political theoreticians cannot be taken seriously. How
could we possibly take seriously, on the political level, anyone who
does not even know how to view fundamental events? Or who takes
as fundamental what he reads in the newspaper?

In many ways this profound transformation of political doctrines
is perhaps not very new. What was new was the attention paid to

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

284)

doctrine in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Before that
time, political theories incontestably played the role of justifiers,
as they do today. Thus, the counselors of Philip IV, armed with the
whole apparatus of Roman law, used it for the sole purpose of lend-
ing an appearance of legitimacy to the acts of their king. The same
applies to Richelieu and to the theory of the divine right of kings.
(I purposely do not cite Machiavelli because his theories were
never applied. ) In reality the brutal reversal we are witnessing at
present is essentially a return to a long tradition. Power is power;
but it cannot be exercised without at least the appearance of justice.
Doctrine is charged, therefore, with the task of furnishing power
with this semblance of justice. We repeat, it has not always been so.
But since, at present, power is technique, these intellectual con-
structs no longer have any usefulness beyond supplying justifica-
tion.

The Totalitarian State . Finally, technique causes the state to be-
come totalitarian, to absorb the citizens’ life completely. We have
noted that this occurs as a result of the accumulation of techniques
in the hands of the state. Techniques are mutually engendered and
hence interconnected, forming a system that tightly encloses all our
activities. When the state takes hold of a single thread of this net-
work of techniques, little by little it draws to itself all the matter
and the method, whether or not it consciously wills to do so.

Even when the state is resolutely liberal and democratic, it can-
not do otherwise than become totalitarian. It becomes so either
directly or, as in the United States, through intermediate persons.
But, despite differences, all such systems come ultimately to the
same result I shall not repeat these facts since I believe that I have
sufficiently emphasized them.

Technique engenders totalitarianism by another expedient: its
mode of action. Let us take a simple example, that of total war.
There has been a theory of total war, and consequently, it would
seem, some will and choice in the matter. But the action of tech-
niques nowadays makes war of necessity total. The use of guided
missiles such as the Va weapons and rockets which had an error of
about nine miles in three hundred, presupposed that the great
majority of them would fall among the civilian population. The
same holds for the Intercontinental Ballistic Missile: one ICBM is
capable of destroying all life over very considerable areas. Auto-

The Technological Society ( % 8 5

matic steering mechanisms can give great precision to the flight of
antiaircraft missiles. But precision of aim has no meaning when
targets are terrestrial objects closely grouped together. A formation
of bombers is isolated in the sky, and a missle fired at them neces-
sarily hits a military target. But this is not so on the ground.

The situation is even more acute with an H-bomb which can de-
stroy everything within a radius of thirty miles. Despite any and
all possible precautions, the H bomb would destroy civilians and
nonmilitary structures. There is no need here to decide whether or
not to make total war. Even if one wished to limit it, war is total be-
cause the means are totalitarian.

The same applies to civilian techniques. It is no longer possible
to limit their effects even if there is a desire to do so. Censoring
films may sometimes limit their subject matter, give them a con-
formist tone or a moral content; but it does not touch the essential,
that is, the psychic modification of the individual by means of the
violent impression films make upon him. The emotion he inevitably
feels modifies the psychological tonus of the individual and tends
to make him a component of a mob. Such effects lie outside the
range of possible means of rectification. Or, put more precisely,
new means of rectification will be invented. One might, for ex-
ample, try psychoanalysis or one might limit the number of per-
formances each week. But such measures only represent a new at-
tack on the human soul or a new limitation of freedom.

It would be possible to consider in turn every element of state
technique and to show that each one, pushed to the limit, leads to
totalitarianism. Jacques Driencourt has unwittingly done this for
propaganda and Ernst Kohn-Bramstedt for police techniques.

Driencourt attempts to show that propaganda is consistent with
democracy, but he recognizes parenthetically that democratic gov-
ernment is obliged to integrate propaganda into its institutions for
reasons outside its own principles. He recognizes that democracy
is obliged to exploit the same practices, the same violation of hu-
man conscience, and the same encouragement of conformism at
does totalitarianism. He has, in fact, shown that propaganda is hi
itself totalitarian. And when he asserts that propaganda is demo-
cratic if it is not a monopoly, he forgets what he proved at the be-
ginning of his book, that propaganda always tends to monopoly.
The fact is that when the state employs a complete and technical

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

286)

propaganda system, it inevitably becomes totalitarian. Driencourt
notes with surprise that “the country which boasts of being most
liberal [that is, the United States] is the country in which the tech-
nique of thought direction is, by its perfection, the closest to totali-
tarian practices; and is the country in which people, accustomed
to living in groups, are most inclined to leave it to the experts to
fix lines of spiritual conduct ”

As for the police power, it is to be noted that when it becomes
technical, it assumes the leading position in the state and becomes
a fundamental institution, not merely a supplementary one. It af-
firms itself as the “essence of the state/* It appears as a mysterious
entity which evades all laws and assumes complete autonomy. As
Hamel says: “It is the irrational nucleus which escapes all defini-
tion and limitation by the sovereignity of the state/* In fact, we
might as well have an undisguised totalitarianism which controls
everything, since the simple use of techniques produces a totalitar-
ian structure of the state, as it does in the economy.

Why is this so? The answer is that technique is a mass instru-
ment. One can think of technique only in terms of categories.
Technique has no place for the individual; the personal means
nothing to it We certainly cannot deny in theory that every individ-
ual is particular; we even concede him his particularity willingly.
But in the case of rules of organization and action we are unable to
take this particularity into account. It must remain carefully con-
cealed; the particular is identical with the subjective and is not
allowed to show. If it could appear it would have to do so by way
of technique, and in technique there is no particular. Technical
procedures, therefore, abstract from the individual and seek traits
common to masses of men and mass phenomena. Without these com-
mon traits, neither statistics nor the use of the law of great numbers
nor the Gaussian curve — indeed, no organization — would be pos-
sible. Abstraction from the individual is doubtless intended only
as a formal procedure for the convenience of reasoning. But the
formal has become terribly real It has produced the world which
constrains man on every side, which leaves him no outlet to that
realm which was ostensibly excluded merely for the convenience
of reasoning. There no longer exists any form in which the particu-
lar can be concretely incarnated because form has become the
domain of technique. Technique, in the form of psychotechnique,

The Technological Society ( 2 8 7

aspires to take over the individual, that is, to transform the qual-
itative into the quantitative. It knows only two possible solutions:
the transformation or the annihilation of the qualitative. It is pre-
cisely by way of the former that technique is totalitarian; and
when the state becomes technical, it too becomes totalitarian; it has
no alternative.

The words the totalitarian state inevitably evoke cliches and
passionate opinions. But these no longer represent anything but
historical reminiscences. The totalitarian state we are discussing
here is not the brutal, immoderate thing which tortured, deformed,
and broke everything in its path, the battleground of armed bullies
and factions, a place of dungeons and the reign of the arbitrary.
These things did certainly exist; but they represented transient
traits, not real characteristics of the totalitarian state. It might even
be said that they were the human aspects of the state in its inhu-
manity. Torture and excess are the acts of persons who use them as
a means of releasing a suppressed need for power. This does not in-
terest us here. It does not represent the true face of the completely
technical, totalitarian state. In such a state nothing useless exists;
there is no torture; torture is a wasteful expenditure of psychic
energy which destroys salvageable resources without producing
useful results. There is no systematically organized famine, but
rather a recognition of the pressing necessity of maintaining the
labor force in good condition. There is nothing arbitrary, for the
arbitrary represents the very opposite of technique, in which every-
thing “has a reason** (not a final but a mechanical reason). Irra-
tionality might appear to exist — but only for the person who
knows nothing of technique; it is like trying to tell a man who does
not know the radio that there is music all around him although he
cannot hear it.

The totalitarian state does not necessarily have totalitarian theo-
ries, nor does it necessarily even desire them. On the contrary, what
we call totalitarian doctrines litter up the clear line of the technical
state with aberrant elements such as 4 race,** “blood,” “proletariat**
The technical state is the technical state only because it exploits
certain technical means.

There is, however, a great difference between the democracies
and the so-called totalitarian states. All are following the same road,
but dictatorial states have become conscious of the possibilities of

*88 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATS

exploiting technique. They know and consciously desire whatever
advantage can be drawn from it. The rule, for them, is to use means
Without limitation of any sort The democratic states, on the other
hand, have not attained to this consciousness and are consequently
inhibited in their development Scruples concerning tradition,
principles, judicial affirmations, the maintenance of a fagade of
public and private morality — all these still exist in the democratic
state. It may be going too far to say that scruples concerning hu*
man beings also exist in democratic states; the democratic state is
preoccupied most of all with a very special type of man: the voter.

All these scruples, in any case, are without force or reality. They
are merely verbal smokescreens, and the democracies disregard
them every time it is necessary to do so. This fagade no longer
corresponds in any way to a real community; it represents only
vestiges of a community. Nevertheless, however without substance
such talk may be, it still has great importance in democratic life,
especially as it acts to prevent democratic governments from
launching themselves along the road of technique without some
other justification. Here, more than anywhere else, justification is
necessary. Even so, democracies have a bad governmental com
science which no one has succeeded in dispelling. The state has
not taken the decisive step of affirming that only technical neces-
sity counts; it has therefore failed to do two things: to become con-
scious (of what the state can accomplish by exploiting tech-
niques) and to sow its wild oats (by deciding that there are no
compelling moral reasons to get in its way). Thus, at present every
time the democratic state exploits a given technique, it must begin
all over again to justify itself, to debate the necessity of the pro-
posed measure, and to question everything. In the long run it will
have to capitulate, but in the meantime its scruples act as a drag on
it, if not in the actual application of techniques (which would, in
any case, be impossible), at least in its enterprise. In order to force
the democratic state to come to any decision there must always be
a “present danger," some direct competition with the dictatorial
state, in which action becomes a matter of life or death.

The superiority of dictatorship stems wholly from its massive ex-
ploitation of techniques. Democracy has no choice in the matter:
either it utilizes techniques in the same way as the enemy, or it will

The Technological Society (289

perish. It is clear enough that the first term of this proposition will
prevail For this reason, wars always bring about a prodigious
advance in the use of certain techniques in democratic societies.
The democracies are, of course, careful to assert that they are using
these techniques only because of the state of war. But there are al-
ways wars of one kind or another: war preparations, cold war, hot
war, new cold war, and so on, ad infinitum.

Indeed, cold war is as productive as hot war in forcing the
democracies to imitate the dictatorships in the use of technique.
The officers of the French Army, for example, have been obliged to
engage in psychological activity and subversive war to counter the
enemy’s use of these. Here is a good example of technical imitation
of a dictatorship by a democracy.

Up to this point we have contrasted the democratic state with the
dictatorial state. But we have not distinguished among the different
forms assumed by the dictatorships. There are two major lines
followed by these states, represented, respectively, by Commu-
nism and Fascism, The question might be put whether or not these
two are identical. A superficial, bourgeois survey will immediately
come up with an affirmative answer, on the basis of certain massive
facts of the present day. It might be noted, for example, that both
sides have concentration camps, enormous police apparatuses,
torture, ration cards, economic and other kinds of planning, plebi-
scites in place of elections, a single party (Nazi or Communist)
dominating the state, a single individual exercising plenary pow-
ers, and so on. This adds up to a complex of identical forms; as a
consequence, the regimes are alike. The intellectuals, however,
will protest against such a hasty assimilation of the two; and in a
deeper sense, the differences are real.

In Communism, despite its methods, there is an indubitable will
to human liberation. It has the genuine support of millions of
poverty-striken persons and, consequently, a humane aspect which
Fascism never possessed. It recruits its adherents from many dif-
ferent parties — on the one hand from the true proletariat and on the
other from the “Lumpen-proletariat” that is to say, a sub-proletar-
iat without positive value. Communism has the honesty not to
affirm bogus spiritual values or make pacts with international cap-
italism. In addition, the fact that Nazism was anti-Semitic has a

2 9 o ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

special significance for Christians — a point which Karl Barth has
emphasized. Communism as such does not imply this, even though
it may become anti-Semitic for short periods.

Upon closer analysis, however, we find a similarity between the
two: a comparable attitude toward techniques. This relation may
appear to some a bit thin, but it is the very essence of the twin
movement represented by Communism and Fascism, botK of
which owe their origin to techniques, and uniquely so. Communism
emerges when the development of certain techniques endangers
the very society which has allowed them to flourish. Communist
dialectic makes its appearance as an explanation of the way in
which technical progress first produced a society, then transcended
that society’s economic and political forms, finally provoking their
inevitable decline. Marxism orders this succession of events into a
precise doctrine. It furnishes the key to an understanding of the
modern world and at the same time ties its own fate to that of tech-
nique, Recall in this connection the famous remark of Lenin con-
cerning socialism and electrification. Marxism is, in fact, nothing
but an epiphenomenon of technical development, a phase of the
painful marriage of man and technique. “Neither with thee, nor
without thee/' It is an attempt at dialectic reconciliation, so to
speak.

Fascism stands in exactly the same relation to technique. It can be
stated without exaggeration (in spite of the scandalous character
of such an affirmation) that both Fascism and Nazism are approxi-
mations derived from Marx for the adaptation of man to his tech-
niques. They represent that part of Marxism which is centered on
the narrower problem of the state and technique, whereas Marx-
ism itself is a broader theory encompassing the totality of the prob-
lem of society and technique. Nazism, however, far from being
opposed to Marxism, completes it and confirms it. It gives the solu-
tion to numerous problems of adaptation. Hitler’s methods stem
directly from Lenin’s precepts; and conversely, Stalinism learned
certain lessons about technique from the Nazis.

If we suppress the episodic in order to get at the essential, we
find in the two fraternal enemies the same phenomenon of awe at
the power to be had from technique, and the same enthusiastic pur-
suit of the same objective. The Guelphs and the Ghibellines made
merciless war on each other to decide which party was to exercise

The Technological Society ( 2 p 1

world supremacy. But they had the same objective: the greatest
possible power of the state whose sovereignty had no limits, the
earthly hope of all whom feudal anarchy had exhausted.

The dictatorial state has efficiency as its goal. It submits to the
law of techniques, for it understands that only by giving tech-
niques free rein can it hope to derive the maximum profit from
them. Whatever techniques are involved — human or physical, eco-
nomic or educational — the state musters around it all available
technical instruments. This occurs spontaneously, by chance; but
in dictatorial states it is voluntary, calculated, studied ( and there-
fore the process occurs more rapidly). It is the end sought by all
forms of state. The Communist knows that technical progress
means the progress of the proletariat. The Nazi knows that he is the
instrument of state power; he cannot conceive that anyone would
allow its limitation.

Nazism gave its goals an ideological veneer, but this veneer was
futile insofar as it was not an instrument of propaganda and pro-
ceeded too rapidly. Communism, in its fusion of technique and
state, proved much more prudent and in that sense more humanis-
tic. It was in this way closer to reality and less shocking to the con-
science of the average man. Hitlerism caused the essential barbar-
ism of the thing to explode in men s faces. Behemoth showed his
true face, and it proved to be too terrifying for the man of 1930,
who still sought to hold on to some of his illusions and to preserve
for himself at least the semblance of freedom. In this, Nazism com-
mitted a grave error which the Communists knew well enough how
to exploit. However, both Nazism and Communism were working
toward the total exploitation of the means which man had created
to vanquish necessity.

Summum Jus: Summa Injuria

The function of justice provokes an unending major debate be-
tween the claims of justice and those of judicial technique.

Judicial technique is in every way much less self-confident than
the other techniques, because it is impossible to transform the
notion of justice into technical elements. Despite what philosophers
may say, justice is not a thing which can be grasped or fixed. If one

2$2 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

pursues genuine justice (and not some automatism or egalitarian-
ism), one never blows where one will end. A law created as a func-
tion of justice has something unpredictable in it which embar-
rasses the jurist. Moreover, justice is not in the service of the state;
it even claims the right to judge the state. Law created as a function
of justice eludes the state, which can neither create nor modify it.
The state of course sanctions this situation only to the degree that it
has little power or has not yet become fully self-conscious; or to the
degree that its jurists are not exclusively technical rationalists and
subordinated to efficient results. Under these conditions, technique
assumes the role of a handmaiden modestly resigned to the fact that
she does not automatically get what she desires.

A certain equilibrium is established between the pursuit of jus-
tice and the judicial technique which flourishes in a period of natu-
ral law. 5 Judicial technique has a place, but in many respects it is
not easily defined.

There are indeed very different definitions of the role of judicial
technique. For Saleille, judicial technique constitutes the arrange-
ment of judicial concepts, the reduction of rules to a coherent sys-
tem. This limits it to a highly theoretical notion, essentially an in-
tellectual operation. The same holds for Savigny’s contention that
judicial technique is concerned with the scientific elaboration of
law by jurists, as opposed to the spontaneous creation of law by the
people. This is doubtless not inexact, but Sa vigny is referring rather
to the consequences of judicial technique. It is true that when
judicial technique develops, the spontaneous creation of law de-
clines and dies; that the popular source of law is sterilized by
learned law; and that this gives the jurists a free hand. But then,
Savigny is describing an aspect of judicial technique, not the pur-
pose of judicial technique. We come much closer to actuality with
Kohler, who assigns to judicial technique the role of adapting legal
texts to practice. And it is Kohler's concept which has guided the
major authors who have studied the problem of judicial technique,
albeit with individual differences (G4ny, Dabin, Haesaert, Per-
rot).

In this context, judicial technique consists in setting reality in a
framework of means through legal decisions and in rendering these

9 On these points, see my Fondement th^ologique du droit.

The Technological Society ( *93

decisions effective. It can then be reasonably argued that political
function and judicial technique are complementary. Political func-
tion consists in supplying the substance of the rides, that is, the
goal to be attained, the political or social ideal which the law is to
realize. By its laws the state will also indicate ways and means of
reaching the political goal, and in so doing will approach reality
to a sufficient degree, without, however, grappling with it directly.
It is the task of the jurists to give form to the instructions and de-
cisions of the law, not only by rendering them systematic but by
implementing them. Legal form is clearly not a mere verbal, ex-
ternal matter, but a means of effecting something. It has a broader
scope than Perrot suggests when he defines legal technique as an
“operational procedure meant to secure the goal sought by the
will by causing the will to enter onto the legal plane.**

But this exclusive relation between technique and will, which
leaves out the whole judicial expression of social and economic
Teality, is far too restricted. Judicial technique is not merely a
technique of adaptation but one of creation of law in its entirety.

The great task of judicial technique then is to arrange the ele-
ments furnished it by the political function in order that the law
not be merely a verbalism, a dead letter. And this takes a whole
arsenal of proofs, civil and penal sanctions, guarantees, in short,
the whole detailed mechanism created to secure the realization of
the ends of the law.

Haesaert seems to me to have defined this judicial technique ex-
cellently as “the ensemble of means by which the subjects of law
are induced to take, in the social system in which they exist, the
legal attitude,** the active or passive behavior judged necessary. It
is really, therefore, a question of obedience, and this is in fact the
end toward which judicial technique aims.

For the technician of the law, all law depends on efficiency.
There is no law but in its application. A law which is not applied
is not a law. Obedience to rule is the fundamental condition of its
being. Legal abstraction is unreal. The whole technical apparatus
(expression of legal norms, publication of laws, applications in
jurisprudence or doctrine, voluntary or forced realization) has but
one end: the application of the law. And this complex corresponds
exacdy to the notion of technique in general, that is, an artificial
search for efficiency. In this definition, efficiency is taken in its

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

294)

pure state; we are forced to admit that law does not exist without
it. The term artificial is used in the same way; law is no longer
obeyed spontaneously, and the popular consciousness which origi-
nally created law does not adhere spontaneously and naturally to
this system. Application of law no longer arises from popular ad-
hesion to it but from the complex of mechanisms which, by means of
artifice and reason, adjust behavior to rule.

This technical creation of law is, then, requisite and gains its
scope through two operations:

1 ) By means of the first the judicial element is separated from
the law as such. The judicial element ( which becomes principally
organization ) is no longer charged with pursuing justice or creating
law in any way whatsoever. It is charged with applying the laws.
This role can be perfectly mechanical. It does not call for a phi-
losopher or a man with a sense of justice. What is needed is a good
technician, who understands the principles of the technique, the
rules of interpretation, the legal terminology, and the ways of de-
ducing consequences and finding solutions. The removal of law
from the concrete is a great step forward in the process of tech-
nicization. The judicial element is charged with certain practical
questions but, as we have said, not with making law. It is in a
position to become technical in detail because the problem of
justice is no longer one of its concerns. It does not have to be judge
of the rules which it is commissioned to apply.

2) The dissociated judicial element gains more efficiency to the
degree that it is made completely technical. It becomes possible to
divorce judicial reasoning from a “dangerous empiricism, by con-
fining the infinite diversity of judicial situations to a limited num-
ber of conceptual frameworks” Fundamental legal institutions
thereby derive simplicity and vigor because they are more directly
based in the techniques which give them their logical foundation.
This logical foundation is doubtless compensated by a certain
sclerosis of the legal framework and by a certain stiffness of judicial
will. If, moreover, because of the invasion of techniques the judicial
factor exists apart from concrete problems, it comes under state
control.

There is, in addition, another problem: the perpetual problem of
justice. Justice is no longer conceived of as a practical requirement
vis-a-vis individual problems, but rather as a mere idea, an abstract

The T echnological Society ( 2 9 5

notion. Then it becomes simple to discard it entirely. Even so, men
of law have certain scruples and are unable to eliminate justice
from the law completely without twinges of conscience. But it is
not possible to retain it because of the difficulties it involves, the
uncertainty of operation and unpredictability it entails. In a word,
judicial technique implies that bureaucracy cannot be burdened
any longer with justice.

But, in that case, how shall another and newer meaning be given
to the law? It is a remarkable fact that all societies which have
arrived at a certain degree of state control and legal evolution
have found the same answer to this question. In Egypt, in Rome
in the fourth century after Christ, in fifteenth-century France, and
in all of twentieth-century Western civilization, the concept of or-
der and security is substituted for justice as the end and foundation
of law when judicial technique becomes sufficiently developed.

The formula then becomes: "Better injustice than disorder." The
notions of order and security are at least as easily reduced to tech-
nique as is the impossible notion of justice. One knows exactly what
measures must be taken to achieve order. The definition of order
may vary, but the means are always the same. One knows and is
in a position to specify the conditions of legal security. Even though
these means imply injustice, it is impossible to object, in view of the
changeable character of the concept of justice. The more explicit
judicial technique becomes, the more the law tends to ensure or-
der. This is, moreover, one of the major objectives of the state.
Therefore, the law and the police become identical, for the law is
no longer anything but an instrument of the state. At such a price
judicial technique blossoms and yields its consequences. Today we
are in a position to study this phenomenon in all its vigor.

At most, a possible inconsistency in the laws (to which the need
for order constrains the state) might trouble the conscience of
jurists. But since there is no longer any foundation of law in justice,
legal inconsistency cannot have any very far-reaching effects or
endanger the judicial technique.

The schematism I have described is found over and over again
behind the complexity of modem legal phenomena. Under such
conditions the traditional equilibrium between the technical and
human elements is quickly lost. In affirming that there is no law
without efficiency, we in fact announce the implicit sacrifice of jus-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

*s«)

tice and the human being to efficiency. With this lack of equi-
librium, the door is wide open to further technical invasion. We are
witnessing the result — the takeover of law by technique — among
nations which have a less firmly rooted legal sense than the French.

Until now I have been speaking of judicial technique still as a
recognizable part of the world of law. The jurist, although turned
technician, adhered to a general line which prevented technique
from reaching a “pure’* state. But once the pure technical men-
tality, technique-in-itself, has penetrated the legal world, legal
technique, which no longer has its roots in law but in the physical
sciences or perhaps even in biology, brings about certain decisive
upheavals in social life. The technician rejects both the school of
natural law and the historical school, so that, according to
F. Jiinger, the law becomes merely a complex of technical norms.
The demands of conscience, as well as those of society ( to use the
traditional language), become subordinated to normative tech-
nique. It is no longer considered necessary to secure popular ad-
herence to law or to be limited to legal means in order to secure
the application of law. The enormous simplicity of technique has
deprived the whole ensemble of judicial mechanisms of meaning —
mechanisms which had as their end to guarantee the law and to
cause it to be obeyed without excessive use of force. The whole
apparatus of devices such as penalties, distraints, and the like, no
longer makes sense. There is no need of such finesse. Adherence and
obedience are secured by extralegal means (among which the po-
lice are very often the most innocuous ) .

We are today in the process of transcending the traditional posi-
tion. That is to say, law ensures order instead of justice. Hans
Kelsen represents the culmination of this development; and it was
expressed m certain of the legal forms of ± ne rSazis recog*

nized that a science of human behavior would make it possible to
dispense with many legal rules. If the people to be administered
were “persuaded, 1 * if they were made to understand by sufficiently
powerful means that the observation of the rule was in their own
interest, that rule would become more and more useless. If a suf-
ficiently functional, realistic, and coherent pattern is established for
the organized human milieu (and the technique of organization can
furnish such a plan in short order), a great part of the administra-
tive apparatus is rendered superfluous. In this way society is di-

The Technological Society ( 297

rected toward a progressive emptying of legal forms and a conse-
quent gain in the human techniques which render a gendarmery
useless.

A further consequence of the technicization of the law is that the
distinction between political technique and judicial technique dis-
appears, for all practical purposes. The subject and object of the
law are no longer social, but rather technical, exigencies. The
technician approves of proceeding in this way: the very matter of
law becomes his object. He has good reason to desire such a situa-
tion. He is no longer burdened with absurd methods of procedure.
His judgments become completely rational since he understands
the social necessities and the economic situation and can take them
into account in his calculations. But it should not be thought that
the technician merely translates these necessities into law. Above
all, he elaborates them, and they are essentially subordinate to him
and his technique.

This explains the enormous proliferation of laws. The technician
analyzes and predicts; he cannot endure the indeterminate or tol-
erate any initiative which upsets order. These two traits explain the
multiplicity of laws. In the past, this multiplicity was attributed
to inefficiency. The repeated promulgation of a law, or the indefi-
nite multiplication of laws, accentuated the fact that laws were
going unobserved. Legal multiplicity today is something else
again. Whatever a technician believes is true must be made into
law. But his inferences only concern details. His analytic spirit
leads him to perceive, understand, and affirm strictly localized
truths; and thus strictly delimited, they then become the objects
of law. There must be a law for each fact; whence the indefinite
proliferation of the legal apparatus.

The modern proliferation of laws can also be explained by the
legal technicians complete antipathy to the notion of a doctrinal
law, to a jurisprudence of "concepts.** A legal system which merely
establishes principles and lays down general lines of procedure
entrusts to the judge the creation of the living law under the
maxim praetor viva vox juris civilisS Such a state of affairs is in-
tolerable to the technician, who dreads above all else the arbitrary,

* "The magistrate is the real voice of the civil law." M. Ellul points out elsewhere
to what a degree Homan law depended on the magistrate's interpretation of very
general, not to say vague, legal maxims. ( Trans. )

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

298)

the personal, and the fortuitous. The technician is the great enemy
of chance; he finds the personal element insupportable. For that
reason he finds it advisable to enclose the judge or the administrator
in a tighter and tighter technical network, more and more hedged
about with legal prescriptions, in such a way that the citizen will
understand exactly where he is heading and just what conse-
quences are to be expected.

Law, then, must provide for every contingency, so that man can-
not disturb its operation. The traditional development of law in-
volved a kind of competition between judges and crooks; but with
the progress of technique, this is no longer the case. Society,
through the application of extralegal means, is beginning to guar-
antee public obedience to the law. Its real problem now is to
restrain the activities of those who would apply the law only to
distort it, from the judge down to the lowest prison guard.

The smallest detail must therefore be invested with the majesty of
the law; after all, law concerns an organized society. The law of
persons, for example, is now the law of persons technically or-
ganized. Even property law has been profoundly modified by the
disturbances to which technique has subjected property owner-
ship. We see once more that all the fundamental technical data
verify and reinforce one another.

As to the consequences, I believe they may be reduced to two;
law becomes a mere instrument of the state; and, in the end, law
disappears. The first of these statements is in no way connected
with a general theory of law. I am not saying that the essence of
law is reduced to the will of the state. I confine myself to the ob-
servation of facts. When the law becomes technical, it must be
formulated on the basis of technical methods; it is necessary to
propound an “edict” from some center (exactly as in the Latin
e-dicere ). Technical law implies a close relation with the state;
and the more technical the law becomes, the more this relation be-
comes exclusive of all but technical content. The movement is rein-
forced by the fact that the state simultaneously becomes technical
too.

This concordant development results in an actual identification
(apart from any doctrinal position) of the expression of the law
with some purely administrative proceeding. It is always possible,
of course, to affirm the supremacy of aspects of the law other than

TheT echnological Society (299

its actual expression; they are completely detached from reality,
being separated from it by a formidable arsenal of strictly adminis-
trative texts and the specific turn of the technical mentality. The
law at present is an affair of the state. The state, whenever it ex-
presses itself, makes law. There are no longer any norms to regulate
the activity of the state; it has eliminated the moral rules that
judged it and absorbed the legal rules that guided it. The state is
a law unto itself and recognizes no rules but its own will. When, in
this way, technique breaks off the indispensable dialogue between
the law and the state, it makes the state a god in the most theologi-
cally accurate sense of the term; a power which obeys nothing but
its own will and submits to no judgment from without. This godlike
will of the state is for modern man the most precise expression of
technique.

In the second place, we are witnessing the disappearance of the
law in the legal proliferation described. This dissolution is notable
in two things, the loss by the law of its end and of its domain.

In connection with the first point, law, whether we like it or
not, is dependent on justice. This is no arbitrary affirmation; fur-
ther, I do not have in mind a justice which is subject to all manner
of intellectual tortures. When law is detached from justice, it be-
comes a compass without a needle. The substitution of order for
justice, useful though this may be for the purpose of making law
technical, itself quickly becomes a contributory factor in this dis-
sociation. For what does order signify? In effect, the same thing as
efficiency. Law must assure order. Order is the application of the
will of the state. Law must be efficient. Efficiency is itself order.
Once more we witness a general transformation of means into ends.
Law thus becomes an activity without any end and without any
meaning. It is efficient for efficiency s sake; and individual laws are
conceived solely with a view to being efficient. The whole func-
tional theory of law is in accord with this. The idea that every man
has a function in society, that the law exists to give him the means
of fulfilling this function and to see to it that he does fulfill it, rep-
resents justice in abstractor The idea is not new; it dominated the
whole of medieval law. What is new ( and is in process of com-
pletely changing the meaning of the idea of function ) is the rela-
tion between function and technique. Law no longer poses the
problem of the finality of man’s functions. Law no longer co-

JOO) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

ordinates man's functions in their relation to justice. As soon as that
function is keyed to technique, it becomes valid in and of itself.
Everyone’s function, once it has become technical, finds in tech-
nique its meaning and validity; its proper results and destiny are of
little importance. The law has become a mere organizer of indi-
vidual functions. It thus constitutes only a part of the larger science
of social relations and connections.

This development is clearly taking place today in property law,
contract law, and so on; similarly it is contributing to the dissolu-
tion of the law. Traditionally, there was a specific domain of law
which could easily be defined, for example, by comparing different
legal systems, present and past. Legal domain always remained
the same; today, however, the frontiers have expanded It is no
longer possible to distinguish between what is law and what is
not. Every application of technique to the social sphere becomes
part of the domain of law. A clear example of this is the problem
of planning: the true legal domain, today, is that of planning.
Everything affected by planning must be transformed into law.
The domain of law is therefore no longer defined by object or by
end, but by method.

This transition represents a triumph of technique. No longer is the
preoccupation of the law and justice its measure. The law's con-
cern is to apply new means to all accessible areas. The very being
of the law is thus dissolved. In itself the law has come to represent
nothing but a terminology and a travesty on tradition which hap-
pens to be useful to the new lords and masters. People who today
hold the law in contempt are at least not deceived by false im-
pressions. Nevertheless, in consenting to be robbed in this way,
man renounces one of his highest vocations.

Repercussion on Technique

It is not merely the state which is being transformed by the techni-
cal movement. For the past thirty-odd years, when the encounter
between the state and technique has become more explicit, tech-
nique has developed with greater rapidity than ever before, not
only according to its own internal logic but also with the aid of
the power and support of the state. The advantages of private

The Technological Society ( 3 o 1

and public techniques have complemented each other in such a
way as virtually to cancel out the inconveniences of either. We
have seen, for example, that the immobility to which the technique
of the state tends is compensated for by the activities of private
techniques — initiative remaining with the individual even when
private technique has become state technique.

But we must admit that the state’s appropriation of technique
has dispelled much of technique’s familiar magical appeal. Man
is gradually losing his illusions about technique and his bedazzle-
ment with it. He is becoming aware that he has not created an in-
strument of freedom but a new set of chains; this appears with
compelling clarity when the state exploits technical instruments.
Man, however, is still not willing to believe in the reality of this
new situation; he tends to reject, above and beyond bad techni-
cal uses and doctrines, the results of this conjunction between
state and technique.

But this rejection is the result of an oversimplification. It is tech-
nique itself which has changed. Either that, or it has followed its
own law, a law man was ignorant of at the beginning of this glo-
rious era. In any case, man sees that technique has changed, but
he is unwilling to examine it too closely for fear of losing his last
hopes.

Technique Unchecked. At present there is no counterbalance to
technique. In a society in equilibrium, every new cultural tend-
ency, every new impulse, encounters a certain number of obstacles
which act as the society’s first line of defense. This is not due to
the interplay of conservative and revolutionary forces in general,
nor in particular to the play between the means of production and
the organs of consumption. It is rather due to the simple fact that
every new factor must be integrated into the cultural framework,
and this process requires a certain period of time because it en-
tails modifications of the two interacting elements. It is never
initially clear that the new factor will be acceptable to the cultural
complex. On one hand is a kind of process of selection and, on
the other, a resistance that gradually abates. A number of different
forces play this restraining role. I shall discuss four of them.

The first is morality. Every civilization has rules of precise con-
duct, which are covered by the term morality in either its French
or its Anglo-Saxon meaning. They may be conscious and thought

302 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATS

out, or unconscious and spontaneous. They determine what is good
and what is bad and, consequently, admit or reject a given in-
novation.

Very close to morality, public opinion comprises a set of much
more irrational reactions which are not necessarily related to good
and evil. For reasons still poorly understood, public opinion may
be impelled in a certain direction under the influence of a given
impulse, or it may remain refractory. Obviously, public opinion
is decisive in the interaction between morality and a new factor.
It can render morality obsolete or lead it to triumph.

A third restraining force is social structure, which includes both
social morphology and economic or legal structure. The social
structure reacts strongly whenever new factors threaten to modify
it. (This, incidentally, is the only one of the four factors retained
by Marxism.) Systems or ideas are no longer the sole operative
factors; economic relations or sociological factors can disturb the
equilibrium even of a situation the stability of which was pre-
viously thought assured.

Finally, there is the state, the special organ of defense of a
society, which reacts with every means at its disposal against all
disturbing forces.

We may now ask what position we are in today with respect to
these factors insofar as technique is concerned. Let us put aside
the problem of morality and concern ourselves with public opin-
ion It is completely oriented in favor of technique; only technical
phenomena interest modern men. The machine has made itself
master of the heart and brain both of the average man and of the
mob. What excites the crowd? Performance — whether perform-
ance in snorts ( the result of a certain snnrfincr techlliGUe ) 07
■■ & x ■ * ■ r o i /

economic performance (as in the Soviet Union), in reality these
are the same thing. Technique is the instrument of performance.
What is important is to go higher and faster; the object of the
performance means little. The act is sufficient unto itself. Modem
man can think only in terms of figures, and the higher the figures,
the greater his satisfaction. He looks for nothing beyond the mar-
velous escape mechanism that technique has allowed him, to off-
set the very repressions caused by the life technique forces him
to lead. He is reduced, in the process, to a near nullity. Even if

The Technological Society (303

he is not a worker on the assembly line, his share of autonomy and
individual initiative becomes smaller and smaller. He is constrained
and repressed in thought and action by an omnivorous reality
which is external to him and imposed upon him. He is no longer
permitted to display any personal power. Then, suddenly, he
learns that the airplane his factory manufactures has flown at 700
miles an hour! All his repressed power soars into flight in that
figure. Into that record speed he sublimates everything that was
repressed in himself. He has gone one step further toward fusion
with the mob, for it is the mob as a whole that is moved by a
performance that incarnates its will to power. Every modem man
expresses his will to power in records he has not established him-
self.

Public opinion is all the more important in that it is a two-
pronged element. In the first place, there is modem mans col-
lective worship of the power of fact, which is displayed in every
technique and which is manifested in his total devotion to its over-
whelming progress. This adoration is not passive but truly mys-
tical Men sacrifice themselves to it and lose themselves in the
search for it. In this sense Mussolini was right in speaking of men
realizing themselves in and through the state, the collective in-
strument of power. The martyrs of science or of the air force or
of the atomic pile give us the most profound sense of this worship
when we see the deference the crowd pays them. “I have faith
in technique” declared Henry Wallace, the former Secretary of
Commerce of the United States. His faith indeed dwells in men's
hearts. Man is scandalized when he is told that technique causes
evil; the scourges engendered by one technique will be made good
by still other techniques. This is society's normal attitude.

In the second place, there is the deep conviction that technical
problems are the only serious ones. The amused glance people
give the philosopher; the lack of interest displayed in metaphysi-
cal and theological questions (“Byzantine” quarrels); the rejec-
tion of the humanities which comes from the conviction that we
are living in a technical age and education must correspond to it;
the search for the immediately practical, carrying the implication
that history is useless and can serve no practical ends — all these are
symptomatic of that “reasonable” conviction which pervades the

30^ ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

social hierarchy and is identical for all social classes. “Only tech-
nique is not mere gab." It is positive and brings about real achieve-
ments.

In these two ways, the mystic and the rational, public opinion is
completely oriented toward technique. And at present another pre-
cise technique molds public opinion with reference to any given
question. This technique has never been fully exploited because
public opinion is favorable enough to technique without it. But if
a sudden change should occur and public opinion should turn
against technique, we would see the propaganda machinery set into
motion to re-create a favorable atmosphere, for the whole social
edifice would be at stake.

As to the third traditional restraining force — the social structure
— the question is whether the social structure of our world acts as a
brake on technical evolution. By way of answer, I have shown that
progress has been rapid only because social morphology has fa-
vored it. This phenomenon has not fluctuated very much; and at
present we are witnessing the penetration of social structure by
techniques. The life of the modem world is to an ever greater
degree dominated by economics, and economics in turn is morfc and
more dominated by technique. The whole of the material world in
which we live rests on this technical base. (It is a commonplace of
science-fiction writers to imagine what would happen if the use of
technical instruments were to be suddenly stopped. ) Likewise, our
analysis has led us to recognize that as technique progresses in a
given society, it tends to reproduce in that society the social struc-
tures that gave birth to it

The individualist and atomized society of the nineteenth cen-
tury was, from the sociological point of view, favorable to technical
development. Today we are witnessing a kind of technical recon-
stitution of the scattered fragments of society; communities and
associations flourish everywhere. Men seem overjoyed at this crea-
tion of new social frameworks independent of the state. The social
solidification of today contrasts sharply with the fluidity of the
nineteenth century. Does this phenomenon then present an effec-
tive opposition to techniques? The answer must be in the negative.
If we examine these new sociological forms in detail, we find them
all organized as functions of techniques. We hardly need to ex-
amine industrial associations, but the same applies to all other

The Technological Society (3° 5

twentieth-century associations. They may be associations for sport
or for culture, the goal of which is clearly recognizable (Dickson).
They may be labor unions, which have their characteristic relation
to life through the economy, this last being conditioned by tech-
nique They may be communities like the Kibbutzim , whose object
is to exploit techniques while allowing man a normal life. In every
kind of modem society there is a predominance of techniques. The
social morphology of these societies indeed differs radically from
that of traditional societies. Traditional societies were centered
upon human needs and instincts (for example, in family, clan,
seignory). Modem societies, on the other hand, are centered on
technical necessity and derivatively, of course, on human adher-
ence. Man, in modem societies, is not situated in relation to other
men, but in relation to technique; for this reason the sociological
structure of these societies is completely altered. There is no
longer any question of autonomous collectivities or groups with
specific values and orientations. Modem collectivities and groups
have no existence beyond technique — they are representative of
the major tendency of our time.

In the transition from the individualist to the collectivist society,
there are then two stages of evolution, both of which are favorable
to technique, not two different attitudes of society toward tech-
nique. Comparably, it is clear that collectivist society cannot be
established, or even conceived of, except as growing out of an ex-
treme technical development. This might not be true in a com-
munal society (although the communities that exist today are
markedly dependent on technique) ; but we do not seem to be mov-
ing in the direction of such societies.

Hence, we must conclude that our social structures, viewed m
any light whatsoever, are unanimously favorable to technique and
could hardly act as a check upon it.

Only the state remains, then, as a possible brake upon technique.
But we have already seen that the state has abdicated this function,
renouncing its directive role in favor of technique. Indeed, since
the nineteenth century every social element which traditionally
acted as a restraint on innovating forces has been overthrown as far
as technique is concerned. Inverted might be a better term; the
factors which formerly acted as hindrances have today become
powerful auxiliaries to technique. (We have only to reflect on pub-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

306)

lie opinion and the expansion of the economy to realize this. ) Tech-
nique, therefore, encounters no possible obstacles or checks to its
progress. It can advance as it will, since it encounters no limiting
factors other than its own powers (which seem unlimited and in-
exhaustible).

A technique without limits is not in itself disquieting. If we look
at our technical society without our idealist spectacles, what seems
most disquieting is that the character of technique renders it inde-
pendent of man himself. We do not mean by this that the machine
tends to replace the human being; that fact is already well-known.
The important thing is that man, practically speaking, no longer
possesses any means of bringing action to bear upon technique.
He is unable to limit it or even to orient it. I am well acquainted
with the claims of those who think that society has technique
under firm control because man is always inventing it anew. I
know too of the hopes of those who are always prescribing reme-
dies for this sorcerer's apprentice whom they feel free to invoke
without discernment. But these claims and hopes are mere words.
The reality is that man no longer has any means with which to
subjugate technique, which is not an intellectual, or even, as some
would have it, a spiritual phenomenon. It is above all a sociological
phenomenon; and in order to cure or change it, one would have to
oppose to it checks and barriers of a sociological character. By
such means alone man might possibly bring action to bear upon
it. But everything of a sociological character has had its character
changed by technique. There is, therefore, nothing of a sociologi-
cal character available to restrain technique, because everything
in society is its servant. Technique is essentially independent of the
human being, who finds himself naked and disarmed before it.
Modern man divines that there is only one reasonable way out: to
submit and take what profit he can from what technique otherwise
so richly bestows upon him. If he is of a mind to oppose it, he finds
himself really alone.

It has been said that modern man surrounded by techniques is in
the same situation as prehistoric man in the midst of nature. This is
only a metaphor; it cannot be carried very far, even though it is as
exact as a metaphor can be. Both environments give life but both
place him in utter peril. Both represent terrifying powers, worlds
in which man is a participant but which are closed against him. In

The Technological Society ( 3 07

the joy of conquest, he has not perceived that what he has created
takes from him the possibility of being himself. He is like a rich
man of many possessions who finds himself a nonentity in his own
household. The state, man's last protector, has made common
cause with alien powers.

The Role of the State in the Development of Modem Techniques .
The state plays a role of prime importance with respect to tech-
niques. We have noted that until recently different techniques
were unrelated to oae another. This unrelatedness was true of state
techniques because they were localized and their domains were
not contiguous; it held for private techniques because they were
the result of highly unco-ordinafted activity which, while fruitful,
was also anarchical and was dominated, moreover, by specializa-
tion.

The basic effect of state action on techniques is to co-ordinate the
whole complex. The state possesses the power of unification, since
it is the planning power par excellence in society. In this it plays its
true role, that of co-ordinating, adjusting, and equilibrating social
forces. It has played this role with respect to techniques for half a
century by bringing hitherto unrelated techniques into contact
with one another, for example, economic and propaganda tech-
niques. It relates them by establishing organisms responsible for
this function, as, for example, the simple organs of liaison between
ministries. It integrates the whole complex of techniques into a
plan. Planning itself is the result of well-applied techniques, and
only the state is in a position to establish plans which are valid on
the national level. We are, at present, beginning to see plans on a
continental scale, not only the so-called five-year plans, but the
Marshall Plan and plans for assisting underdeveloped countries.

It is only in the framework of planning that such operations are
arranged and find their exact place. The state appears less as the
brain which orders them organically and more as the relational
apparatus which enables the separate techniques to confront one
another and to co-ordinate their movements. We find concrete
evidence of this again and again; in the co-ordination of rail and
automobile traffic, the co-ordination of the production of steel and
motor vehicles and aircraft, in the co-ordination of the medical
profession and social security, the co-ordination of foreign and
colonial commerce, and of all commerce with finance, and so forth.

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

308)

Hie more closely related the different sectors* the more does a
discovery in one involve repercussions in the others, and the more
it becomes necessary to create organisms of transmission, cogs and
gears, so to speak, connecting the different techniques. This is an
impossible task for private enterprise, not only because the phe-
nomenon in question is a global one but because the technicians
themselves are specialists. The state alone can undertake the in-
dispensable task of bridging these specializations. The state knows
approximately the available resources in men and techniques and
can undertake the still embryonic function of co-ordinator. Since
discoveries in one technical sector are so useful in others, the role
of co-ordinator is bound to become more and more important.

Consider, for example, the diversity of techniques necessary for
the production of a motion picture. There are financial, literary*
and cinematographic techniques; there are lesser techniques, such
as make-up techniques and the techniques of light and sound.
There are completely new techniques, such as script techniques,
and so on. These cinematic techniques, though complicated, can
be grasped by the brain of a single man, and hence there are still
some cases of one-man management. But consider the magnitude
of the task of co-ordinating, on a national scale, even more compli-
cated clusters of techniques which offer active resistance to being
co-ordinated. In such cases the role of organizer, manager, co-
ordinator — whatever it is called — becomes more necessary in pro-
portion as the state takes over that function. Moreover, the state
alone can fulfill it. This state of affairs is already a reality; the state
is already engaged in bridging the isolated technical specialties.
Individual specialized disciplines — for example, those of the biolo-
gist, the engineer, the sociologist, the psychologist — are combined
to yield new techniques such as psychotechniques and industrial
relations. But these individual disciplines are also joined together
in a more organic way, as, for example, when the so-called human
techniques, physics and politics, are combined in propaganda.

In addition to co-ordinating the different techniques, the state
furnishes material means far beyond the power of any individ-
uals to supply. An expedition to the North Pole, which only a half
century ago was within the resources of one or at most a few pri-
vate persons, is no longer possible on a private basis. Formerly all
that was needed was Eskimo equipment, such as a boat, sledges.

The Technological Society (309

dogs — and, above all, courage. Today complicated mechanical
equipment is necessary: airplanes (especially equipped for the
cold and for ice landings), caterpillar trucks, radio and radio
telephones, prefabricated housing, and so on. Every possible means
to lessen danger is available to him who dreams of exploring un-
known territory. It would doubtless be possible to revive old tradi-
tions — by risking one's life. But why reject the new means? Why
endanger one's life when one can do a better job without that?
Obviously, bravado is unreasonable. One must employ the maxi-
mum means to assure optimal results with the least danger. But no
private person has the means to set into motion the enormous
apparatus that is needed. The means must be requisitioned by the
state, which alone is in a position to find indefinite supplies of
cash and to exploit financial techniques forbidden to individuals.
The same applies in submarine exploration. When one leaves the
domain of the merely amateurish and desires to give one's work
status, legal or otherwise, it is necessary to solicit the support of the
state to cover expenses and to resolve administrative problems.

But the state demands something in return for subventions. The
state does not think it important for an individual to go to the
North Pole, either for sport's sake or for honors. The state desires
tangible technical results. It agrees to furnish assistance for pur-
poses of scientific research and for the acquisition of certain rights
it hopes to exploit; for example, mineral resources and aviation.
The result must be the technical aggrandizement of the state; that
is the only condition under which a contract between state and
individual is possible.

That the state acts to promote scientific research is not new; in
the eighteenth century the state offered recompenses to inventors,
and these recompenses had much to do with the discovery of cer-
tain navigational methods ( compensating chronometer, mathemat-
ical tables, and so on). The state thereafter seemed to lose interest,
but for the last thirty years it has resumed the policy of recompens-
ing technologists and inventors.

There are multiple examples of this, for the modem state, to a
greater degree than ever before, alone has the means to put to
work what technique has to offer man. It suffices to mention agri-
cultural machinery, automatic threshers and reapers, and so on.
Although in France this machinery is of comparatively small size.

3 2 o ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

it is, even so, far beyond the resources of the average individual
fanner to buy. An intermediary is necessary, either a capitalist
who leases machines to the farmers, or a farmer-co-operative
which buys the machines. Yet both of these hesitate to invest the
requisite capital because large-scale farm machinery is used only
for a small part of the year and is idle the rest of the time. ( Such
machinery must therefore be deemed technically backward.)
Airplanes are being used increasingly for sowing, seeding clouds
for rain, distributing chemical substances, and so on. But these
techniques exceed the resources of peasant co-operatives.

There are only two ways to resolve the situation. One is to ex-
propriate the land in favor of capitalist corporations which will ex-
ploit vast areas with the latest technical improvements. The other
is to unite the farmers in state collective farms which would have
at their disposal instruments furnished by the state. A choice is still
possible between the two alternatives. But almost certainly the
balance will swing in favor of state collectives; only through state
collectives can technical progress be fully realized and technical
means exploited without fear of financial setbacks.

The state offers technique possibilities of development which no
Other agency could offer. It gives research men the necessary
means to expedite their research, and, as a consequence, to expe-
dite technique. Only the state is in a position to make available to
scientists the results of scientific investigations from other parts of
the world; the state can exploit information techniques which no
lesser agency could possibly exploit. It can buy necessary new
instruments in any country. It even lures foreign scientists into its
laboratories with hard cash (it may even kidnap them into semi-
slavery, as in the case of the German scientists who were “distrib-
uted” among the victorious Allies). Only the state can purchase
essential scientific equipment and, in addition, give the scientist
the indispensable support of its authority.

Technique, as I have remarked, has no meaning if it is not ap-
plied. But in its application it encounters certain concrete difficul-
ties, especially with individuals. This in no way contradicts what
I have already said about public opinion. Public opinion is com-
pletely and resolutely favorable to technical progress. But it is fa-
vorable retrospectively, so to speak. Technical progress is what
we already know. In actual instances, however — in respect to some

The Technological Society ( 3 1 1

new discovery, for example — the reaction of the public is not so
simple. If a discovery does not concern the public directly, its re-
action is generally enthusiastic, as, for example, in the case of
supersonic aircraft. But if the public is directly affected, if the dis-
covery may in fact be applied to it, enthusiasm is notably dimin-
ished, the more so because there is always a difference of opinion
among the technicians themselves. Here the state intervenes. In
innumerable cases it has had to resolve the quarrels of technicians
and scientists, as formerly it resolved the debates of theologians.
Recall the strife concerning the antitubercular vaccines of Cal-
mette and Guerin; also the reservations of some scientists concern-
ing the “polyvalent vaccination* which is now obligatory in France.
The state alone decided what was to be done in these cases. More-
over, the state clothed its opinion in its authority, which, in a short
time, became the authority of the technician. Where necessary,
authority was reinforced by compulsion. A complicated system
developed. The child who has not been vaccinated cannot be ad-
mitted to school; and the child who does not attend school has no
right to family subsidies. Thus the state overcomes the objections
of individuals to technical progress. Friedmann writes: “It is
clear that in a society in which the psychotechnician's important
task is not invested with the authority of the state ... his position
is ambiguous and his recommendations do not always have the
weight they should * And Friedmann goes on to remark that state
authority frees technique from the grip of private persons.
Through the authority of the state, technique is no longer at the
service of private interests; and this gives the state, if not real
freedom, at least additional justification.

The authority with which the state invests technique becomes
a factor in its development. But it ought not to be forgotten that
this state has itself become technical; it does not act on whim.
Institution in the Service of Technique . The state then proceeds
to create organs to meet the demands of technique, and here arise a
number of possibilities.

The system created in France involves a certain decentralization.
The CNRS (National Center for Scientific Research) is fairly au-
tonomous. But it is necessary right off to dispel a misunderstanding.
The name includes the word scientific , but the work of the Center is
Is above all eke technical. However, the persons who created and

3 j 2 ) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

who champion the work of the Center associate the two concepts
very closely. Consider the statement of Louis de Broglie and
Frederic Joliot-Curie; “For France it is not a question of maintain-
ing scientific and technical research in spite of the fact that the na-
tion is poor; it is a question of developing it, precisely because the
nation is poor* This statement, incidentally, confirms my conclu-
sion about the exploitation of the nation by the technicians. Scien-
tific research is justified in a poor country because it produces
certain techniques which permit more complete use of the coun-
try's resources.

This sheds light on the real meaning of scientific work. Science
is becoming more and more subordinate to the search for technical
application. Numerous scientists, who are attached to the labora-
tories of the CNRS and with whom I am personally acquainted,
have confirmed to me its preoccupation with results and its empha-
sis on technical investigations. The CNRS is not an institution for
disinterested and objective research nor is it a purely cultural
entity. It represents a further step toward the union between the
scientific and the technical. We must recognize, however, that the
French state still does not understand exactly what is to be ex-
pected from this union.

The politicians distrust the technicians; the petty war which is
being fought between them over the CNRS is another example of
the competition I have described. Biquard, chef de cabinet of the
Undersecretary of State for Scientific Research, has written that
the reason for which the CNRS ought to remain independent of the
National Ministry of Education is that *The tasks of the CNRS —
recruitment, training, equipment, co-ordination, organization, and
management — are sufficiently heavy to justify the existence of an
administration appropriate to scientific research; an administration
in which scientists ought to play the most important role.*

This quotation discloses two things: first, that this state organ
performs with respect to technique precisely the functions we have
already indicated: co-ordination, organization, and management;
second, that in it technicians must play the principal role, to the
exclusion of politicians represented by the National Ministry of
Education.

But the creation of the CNRS is clearly only a first step. It repre-
sents a commitment; and it is impossible to stop there. The demo-

The Technological Society (313

cratic state has proved to be clearly unequal to the task of develop-
ing techniques, and the CNRS does not have the prestige or the
means it would possess in an authoritarian state. In comparison
with the authoritarian state, of course, the CNRS is still relatively
free in its activities and its research. Although its general orienta-
tion is toward the technical application of discoveries, certain pos-
sibilities ( incidentally, more and more restricted ) are still left men
for pure research which cannot in principle terminate in immedi-
ate application. The well-known margin of unpredictability in
research is thus protected. Which discoveries are susceptible of
applicability is never known in advance. Research is blind; it ad-
vances gropingly and by means of a thousand experiments which
miscarry. One experiment will make a breach and allow an ex-
plosive technical advance. But the thousand fruitless experiments
were nevertheless necessary. We recognize this. But — and this is
the important thing — technical exigence is dead set against science
in this respect, because technique cannot tolerate the gropings and
slowtempoof science.

We have already examined the requirement of immediate appli-
cability; here we meet it again on the state level. The state is not
disinterested any more than private capitalists, but it is concerned
in a different way. The state claims to represent the public interest
and hence to have the duty of being a “good manager,*' dispensing
the public revenues only on condition that they mean something,
that they pay off. Disinterested activity on the part of the state is
inconceivable. Some may say that such activity should not be im-
possible; but in fact it is impossible. Neither individuals nor public
opinion nor the structure of the state is oriented toward the ac-
ceptance of the kind of culture pure scientific research would
represent.

The state demands that anything scientific enter into the line of
“normal” development, not only for the sake of the public interest
but also because of its will to power. We have previously noted
that this will to power has found in technique an extraordinary
means of expression. The state quickly comes to demand that tech-
nique keep its promises and be an effective servant of state power.
Everything not of direct interest to this drive for power appears
valueless. Just as financiers seek their interest in money profit, the
state seeks it in power. In neither case is the motivation disinter-

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

314)

ested; technical discovery must pay off. Capitalists and state alike
become impatient at delays in research, at experiments which a
priori “lead to nothing,” and at the “uncertainty” of the scientist
when he indulges in pure research without knowing in advance
which research will pay off and which will not Moreover, the
tendency is to eliminate from the legitimate concerns of the state
all sciences that have no immediate practical application; history,
philosophy, grammar, and so on.

In the case of sciences susceptible of practical application, there
is an immediate demand for this application. This is, of course, un-
favorable to science; but it must not be imagined that it is the work
of imbeciles.

The state begins by assigning a precise task to scientific research,
issuing directives to the effect that it must find solutions for certain
pressing problems, for example, a more rapid method to produce a
part of a machine, a jet engine for aircraft, and so on. These direc-
tives are veritable commands to scientific research to summon all
its resources to solve the problems as soon as possible. In a demo-
cratic system there are no sanctions against scientists who fail to
fulfill the state's demands, except suppression of financial support
A dictatorial regime, however, goes very much further to secure
the compliance of the scientists. Even though it still leaves a rather
broad area to personal initiative, it nevertheless tends more and
more to become specific on this score. This is evident in different
ways both in the Soviet Union and in the United States.

In the Soviet Union the Academy of Sciences appears to be the
state organism which directs research and determines the frame-
work in which scientific activities will be carried out. The Acad-
emy constitutes the “general staff of the army of technicians.”
Article a of the statutes, definitively fixed in 1935, charged it with
providing for the “progress of the theoretical and applied sciences.”
But the technical sciences administered by the Soviet Academy
have ceaselessly outstripped the theoretical sciences. The Acad-
emy plans the course of research and assigns objectives to the in-
stitutes. On the initiative of the Academy, the education of higher
technicians has been accelerated; in i960 the Soviet Union claimed
to have 7,500,000 technicians of all classes. The Academy directs
more than twenty institutes for research in applied science, em-

The Technological Society (315

ploying altogether 2,000 researchers. One of its institutes
(the Institute for Information) is charged with collating the tech-
nical publications of the entire world; for this task alone it employs
2,000 people full-time. All this makes it clear that the Academy
plays an important role in technical activities. The system, how-
ever is on the whole poorly understood. It would appear to
be less authoritarian than the Nazi system. But one should not
forget the decision of the state, on the initiative of the Communist
Party, in the Lysenko affair. Here the state, faced with two op-
posed biogenetic theories, decided for scarcely scientific reasons
that Lysenko’s theory was true and ordered its application forth-
with.

The Gosplan/ whose function is essentially to co-ordinate new
scientific elements, is closely related to the Academy. The Gosplan
is kept informed by the Academy about technical discoveries, and
maintains a central file of all data of economic and statistical tech-
niques. In this way, a systematic and rational evaluation of scien-
tific research is possible, the results of which are then integrated
into the state plan itself. In the reform of 1946, in which co-ordinat-
ing bureaus took the place of the former district offices, a technical
bureau was set up whose function was to plan scientific research.
At present this research is being directed on the basis of the over-all
plan and of the needs of the state, and the whole is evaluated from
the point of view of the individual techniques. The technical bur-
eau channels research by distributing financial credit of great
magnitude; for example, in 1949 it allocated approximately 10
billion rubles to scientific research, a sum equivalent to 20 per cent
of all budgeted industrial investment.

The organization of scientific research in the United States is still
far from complete. There are, in principle, private entities which
perform research in all imaginable domains — such as the various
committees for political research, committees for social research,
and so on. In addition, there are entities for gathering and evaluat-
ing statistics, for polling public opinion, and for the study of policy.
Closer and closer relations are being established among these en-
tities, which for the most part have been set up either by private

The Soviet State Planning Agency. (Trans.)

3*6) TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

industry or by the state and then attached to the universities,
(Seventy per cent of these entities have been set up by the large
corporations. )

It is standard procedure for public services in need of informa-
tion to have recourse to these research centers. Specialized bureaus
have also been set up to handle relations between research organi-
zations and the public services. These bureaus receive requests in
all areas (agricultural, industrial, and so on) and orient research.
Subsequently, they act as transmission media for discoveries, and
study the possibilities of technical adaptation. Then the appro-
priate administrations are in a position to make contracts with the
industrialists charged with practical implementation.

Technical operations of this kind and scope become more and
more necessary as the state finances technical investigations to a
greater and greater degree. The state is compelled to finance re-
search which exceeds the financial means of, say, the universities.
The state has direct interest, therefore, in such institutions; it will
therefore not leave unexploited the possibilities thus uncovered.
All this means a much freer movement among government, in-
dustry, and technical research centers than would otherwise be the
case.

In addition, the American state has organized research services
of its own. The Bureau of the Census, for example, encompasses
more than fifteen centers of statistical studies. The National Re-
sources Planning Board, which existed from 1923 to 19^3, was an-
other such center. There are today other much more specialized
agencies, the most comprehensive of which is the Atomic Energy
Commission, The government owns the laboratories and furnishes
the raw materials and equipment, but the actual research of the
Commission is conducted by universities and by private industry.
The Associated Universities, Inc., operates the Brookhaven National
Laboratories; Union Carbide operates Oak Ridge; the University
of California operates Los Alamos; and General Electric operates
the center at Hanford.

Finally, it might be mentioned that the United States feels a
strong need to co-ordinate the research carried out by the different
agencies. Two associations seem fitted for this operation, the Public
Service Administration and the Government Research Association.
In due course, the work of these agencies will result in the realiza-

The Technological Society (317

tion of a project which is already underway: the creation of a cen-
ter of scientific research oriented toward technical goals, a Federal
Research Board.

In principle, it is still possible for science to be independent
But we must take note that the state calls on the best scientists for
its research (in the United States, scientists are eager to work for
the state, in view of the bw salaries paid university professors);
that these scientists, in view of the state’s heavy demands, have
little time to do anything else; and that the state employs an ever
increasing number of them. Moreover, the greatest part of the
funds devoted by corporations to research goes into technical re-
search. Only 4 per cent goes into basic scientific research. When,
after the Steelman report of 1947 and certain public statements of
Einstein, it seemed indispensable to promote scientific research, the
state was appealed to, and in 1951 the state created the National
Science Foundation. When, in the wake of the Sputnik, a new
report (the Waterman report) made a new appeal for state inter-
vention, the state responded by creating the post of an adviser to
the President for science and technology, a National Scientific
Committee, and so on. These events imply a greater and greater de-
gree of intervention. Scientific and technical competition between
the United States and the Soviets must inevitably produce centrali-
zation and growth of political power in the United States. It seems
impossible therefore that independent research can survive; a sys-
tem such as Zweckwissenschaft (“practical or purposive science,*
which the Nazis applied too soon) will gradually take over. In it
there is no longer any question of free research. The state mobilizes
all technicians and scientists, and imposes on all a precise and
limited technical objective. It forces them to specialize to a greater
and greater degree, and remains itself the ordering force behind
tire specialists. It forbids all research which it deems not to be in
its own interests and institutes only that research which has utility.
Everything is subordinated to the idea of service and utility. Ends
are known in advance; science only furnishes the means.

In Z weckwissenschaft the development of technique reaches its
highest point, to the detriment of science. What is socially most
important is the prohibition of all research other than that willed
by the state. But in view of the conjunction of state and technique,
the situation could hardly have been otherwise, and on the whole.

TECHNIQUE AND THE STATE

318)

it cannot be said that the system has yielded poor results. Argu-
ments to the contrary could doubtless be drawn from the Nazi sup-
pression of research in the area of radar, to take one example. The
Nazi government forbade research on short radio waves because
it thought such inquiry had no future and could not be applied.
Great Britain’s “free” research in this area, however, led to the
creation of radar and represented a great setback for the Nazis*
Z weckwissenschafty a setback which had important consequences
for the war. On the other hand, the Nazis’ "‘directed” research
produced impressive results. In the case of tanks, Vi and V2
missiles, and the heavy water bomb, in the fields of surgery, optics,
and chemistry ( not to speak of organization or agricultural meth-
ods), Zweckwissenschaft seems to have had rapid and efficient
results. And after the war, the United States and the Soviet Union
took these inventions and profited from them.

The lesson is not lost. We too are advancing progressively to-
ward this conception, which may in the long run prove to be
ruinous despite the dazzling fireworks it produces today.

In view of what has been said, it may be affirmed with confidence
that, in the decades to come, technique will become stronger and
its pace will be accelerated through the agency of the state. The
state and technique — increasingly interrelated — are becoming the
most important forces in the modern world; they buttress and re-
inforce each other in their aim to produce an apparently indestructi-
ble, total civilization.

CHAPTER

CO

HUMAN

TECHNIQUES

The last techniques to make their appearance are those which re-
late directly to the human being. They are today the subject of
great discoveries — and great hopes. We hear everywhere: “They
will save everything.” Before we study them, let us inquire why
they have appeared.

Necessities

Human Tension . Never before has so much been required of the
human being. By chance, in the course of history some men have
had to perform crushing labors or expose themselves to mortal
periL But those men were slaves or warriors. Never before has the
human race as a whole had to exert such efforts in its daily labors
as it does today as a result of its absorption into the monstrous
technical mechanism — an undifferentiated but complex mechanism
which makes it impossible to turn a wheel without the sustained,
persevering, and intensive labor of millions of workers, whether in
white collars or in blue. The tempo of man's work is not the tradi-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

330 )

tional, ancestral tempo; nor is its aim the handiwork which man
produced with pride, the handiwork in which he contemplated and
recognized himself.

I shall not write (after all, so many others already have) about
the difference between conditions of work today and in the past —
how today's work is less fatiguing and of shorter duration, on the
one hand, but, on the other, is an aimless, useless, and callous busi-
ness, tied to a clock, an absurdity profoundly felt and resented by
the worker whose labor no longer has anything in common with
what was traditionally called work.

This is true today even for the peasantry. The important thing,
however, is not that work is in a sense harsher than formerly, but
that it calls for different qualities in man. It implies in him an ab-
sence, whereas previously it implied a presence. This absence is
active, critical, efficient; it engages the whole man and supposes
that he is subordinated to its necessity and created for its ends.

This is the first time in history that man has been so affected in
so many untraditional ways. Carried along by events, he has been
plunged into war at periodic intervals. But today's war is total war,
a unique and unbelievable phenomenon. It is the onus and concern
of all men. It subjects everyone to the same way of life, puts every-
one on a level with everyone else, and threatens everyone with
the same death; Under its sway men have to endure unheard of
sufferings and fatigue. War is now beyond human endurance in
noise, movement, enormity of means, and precision of machines;
and man himself has become merely an object, an object to be
killed, and prey to a permanent panic that he is unable to translate
into personal action. Man is subjected by modem war to a nervous
tension, a psychic pressure, and an animal submission which are
beyond human power to support. But, involved and committed
to the machine, he does contrive to support all this, admirable ma-
chine that he is! In the process, however, he is stretched to the
limit of his resistance, like a steel cable which may break at any
moment.

The conditions of war may still be abnormal and exceptional.
Nevertheless, even four or five years of war are significant in the
life of a man. And the conditions of war eventually become very
nearly his daily state; for the “abnormal" and the “exceptional,"
with a somewhat lesser intensity, are reproduced regularly during

The Technological Society ( 3 * x

the course of each day. Man was made to do his daily work with
his muscles; but see him now, like a fly on flypaper, seated for
eight hours, motionless at a desk. Fifteen minutes of exercise can*
not make up for eight hours of absence. The human being was
made to breathe the good air of nature, but what he breathes is an
obscure compound of acids and coal tars. He was created for a
living environment, but he dwells in a lunar world of stone, cement,
asphalt, glass, cast iron, and steel. The trees wilt and blanch among
sterile and blind stone facades. Cats and dogs disappear little by
little from the city, going the way of the horse. Only rats and men
remain to populate a dead world. Man was created to have room
to move about in, to gaze into far distances, to live in rooms which,
even when they were tiny, opened out on fields. See him now,
enclosed by the rules and architectural necessities imposed by over-
population in a twelve-by-twelve closet opening out on an anony-
mous world of city streets.

Every man is in this fix, not merely the proletariat, and nothing
can be done about it. What was once the abnormal has become
the usual, standard condition of things. Even so, the human being
is ill at ease in this strange new environment, and the tension de-
manded of him weighs heavily on his life and being. He seeks to
flee — and tumbles into the snare of dreams; he tries to comply —
and falls into the life of organizations; he feels maladjusted — and
becomes a hypochondriac. But the new technological society has
foresight and ability enough to anticipate these human reactions. It
has undertaken, with the help of techniques of every kind, to make
supportable what was not previously so, and not, indeed, by modi-
fying anything in mans environment but by taking action upon
man himself. Psychology is resorted to more and more*, everybody
knows how important morale isl Man can support the harshest and
most inhumane living conditions, provided his morale holds. In-
numerable psychological examples and experiments confirm this.

In a world where technique demands the utmost of men, this
maximum cannot be attained, maintained, or surpassed — as some-
times is required— except by a will that is always steady and taut.
Man does not by nature possess such a will. He is by no means
naturally prepared for such a sublime condition, and if he some-
times does attain to it naturally, the exaltation endures only a few
moments. Yet it must be prolonged. Psychological conditions must

322 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

be created to enable the individual to give his utmost to war (or
peace) and to resist prostration and discouragement in the face of
the dreadful conditions of life into which technique has forced
him.

At the beginning of 1914, a short war was predicted; the morale
of the troops, it was said, could not endure a long one. The same
prophecy was made in 1941 at the beginning of the all-out bom-
bardment of Germany; human beings, it was said, could not long
endure such a pounding. In 1917 it was announced that the misery
attendant on the Russian Revolution would soon bring about the
collapse of Communism. None of these predictions came true;
morale, and morale alone, sustained human stability. Depending
on the side men adhered to, they glorified faith in Hitler, their
country, Communism. But it was not a question of faith; it was
really a question of an extremely efficient technique of morale
building designed to make the insupportable supportable. Between
the intensive Allied bombardment and the intensive German prop-
aganda, the German propaganda carried the day. The Strategic
Bombing Service of the Americans was forced to conclude that,
despite all the bombardments, there was by 1944 no noticeable
lowering of industrial production and that the German workers
were working with the same enthusiasm as before.

Conversely, when psychological motivation is lacking, industrial
production immediately falls. Man is able to endure famine, dis-
comfort, and the most abnormal conditions: he can make intensive
and lasting efforts, provided he is psychologically doped. Our so-
ciety places him in a position in which he is always near the break-
ing point and demands just such effort of him. In order that he not
break down or lag behind ( precisely what technical progress for-
bids), he must be furnished with psychic forces he does not have
in himself, which therefore must come from elsewhere. This is
sometimes a very simple matter, as, for example, with the system
of the “self-arresting” production line. When, through fatigue or
discontent, one of the workers lags behind the others who have
finished their operation, the production line comes to a halt and
the other workers are obliged to pause. According to Friedmann,
“the lagging worker sees that he is keeping his fellows from earning
the wages they might earn. He feels guilty toward them, and this
feeling acts as a psychological stimulant which effectively compels

The T echnologtcd Society (3*3

him to resume the collective tempo in spite of fatigue or discon-
tent** These psychological stimulants are innumerable and are very
often the spontaneous product of the conditions of life. Ideologies
are a good example. I am not alluding here to political ideologies,
but to a whole complex of ideologies of a much more restricted
kind such as are to be found in the Readers Digest.

Technique, then, brings its own ideology; and every technical
realization engenders its own ideological justifications. A recent
study of the Tennessee Valley Authority by Wengert examines this
phenomenon in detail. The TVA originally was an exclusively tech-
nical program to develop hydraulic power and prevent dangerous
flooding. The program was carried out and the power generated
was duly distributed to neighboring localities. It proved to be a
profitable venture, in spite of what some people may say about it.
In the beginning the TVA did not have cultural implications. But
even before the program yielded concrete results, the myth began
to develop, and today the TVA has become a symbol of regionalism
in the United States. To it is ascribed the function of co-ordinating
and integrating diverse activities; a role in the methodical develop-
ment of natural resources; a task of decentralization affecting pub-
lic and private federal and local institutions; and even a mission of
education. We hear of ‘‘democracy on the march” and other such
panegyrics. But nothing in this myth corresponds to facts; it is a
set of ideological constructions which do indeed start from con-
crete, technical, and true facts. But these facts in no way imply
such constructions. Mythical constructions such as these lie in the
realm of those moral fables for which politicians, economists, and
sociologists are often responsible. The press and the radio then
take up these fictions and popularize them; and the public, always
uneasy about its failure to find solutions to the problems perpetually
dinned into its ears, falls eagerly upon what seems to be a solution
and gives it currency.

At such a moment an ideology is born and, in the democratic
countries, becomes public opinion. After the public has taken it up,
other technical schemes are elaborated on the basis of the myth.
Thus, as a function of ideologies in no way implied by the TVA,
corresponding programs were proposed for the Missouri River.
But the correspondence is mere appearance.

Not technique but man is responsible for this wholesale manu-

3*4) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

facture of symbols. Perhaps it is closer to the truth to say that the
contact between man and technique brings this about, of necessity.
It is literally impossible for the public to believe that so much ef-
fort and intelligence, so many dazzling results, produce only ma-
terial effects. People simply cannot admit that a great dam produces
nothing but electricity. The myth of the dam in France springs from
the fact that mass man worships his own massive works and can-
not bring himself to attribute to them a merely material value.
Moreover, since these works involve immense sacrifices, it is neces-
sary to justify the sacrifices ( a fact I shall return to in my study of
propaganda). In short, man creates for himself a new religion of a
rational and technical order to justify his work and to be justified
in it The mechanism of the TVA affords a remarkable example of
this process.

It is thus possible through psychological means to draw from man
his last measure of effort and at the same time compel him to bear
up under the disadvantages with which the new society hinders
him. This is the first goal of psychological techniques. The only
thing that matters technically is yield, production. This is the law of
technique; this yield can only be obtained by the total mobilization
of human beings, body and soul, and this implies the exploitation
of all human psychic forces.

After these reflections, we cannot accept the often quoted state-
ment: "The effort to increase production must cease when the
equilibrium of the whole man is endangered/' This statement
would be acceptable if equilibrium were stable or static. But what
does equilibrium mean when it is possible to re-create it more or
less arbitrarily by purely artificial means? What can limits mean
when psychological devices make it possible to push back all limits?
A fixed structure no longer exists for man. We exact of him what
he would never yield of himself. The machine allows him to com-
ply with the material demands made upon him and psychological
manipulation permits it spiritually. The modification of the human
psyche that results from the interrelation of all techniques makes
nonsense of the statement quoted. The equilibrium of the whole
man? The technical society is capable of re-creating man as a very
different whole from what he was a century ago. It is able to re-
establish “equilibrium" at a higher or lower point ( according to the

The Technological Society (3*5

criteria employed); but, in any case, to establish it at a different
level from the one maintained before the technical era.

Modification of the Milieu and Space . Technique has penetrated
the deepest recesses of the human being. The machine tends not
only to create a new human environment, but also to modify man’s
very essence. The milieu in which he lives is no longer his. He
must adapt himself, as though the world were new, to a universe
for which he was not created. He was made to go six kilometers an
hour, and he goes a thousand. He was made to eat when he was
hungry and to sleep when he was sleepy; instead, he obeys a clock.
He was made to have contact with living things, and he lives in a
world of stone. He was created with a certain essential unity, and
he is fragmented by all the forces of the modern world.

Admittedly, the machine has enriched man as it has changed
him. The machine’s senses and organs have multiplied the powers
of human senses and organs, enabling man to penetrate a new
milieu and revealing to him unknown sights, liberties, and servi-
tudes. He has been liberated little by little from physical con-
straints, but he is all the more the slave of abstract ones. He acts
through intermediaries and consequently has lost contact with
reality. The interested reader may wish to consult Friedmann’s
admirable work concerning the separation of the worker from his
material. Man as worker has lost contact with the primary element
of life and environment, the basic material out of which he makes
what he makes. He no longer knows wood or iron or wool. He is
acquainted only with the machine. His capacity to become a me-
chanic has replaced his knowledge of his material; this develop-
ment has occasioned profound mental and psychic transformations
which cannot yet be assessed.

Men with scientific knowledge of materials are found only in
research institutes. But they never use these materials or see them
and have merely an abstract knowledge of their properties. The
men who actually use the materials to produce a finished product
no longer know them. They follow engineering specifications, using
the only object they will ever know firsthand: the machine. Even
so, it cannot be said that man is adapted to the machine. The pilot
of the supersonic aircraft at its maximum velocity becomes, in a
sense, completely one with his machine. But immobilized in a net-

326) human techniques

work of tubes and ducts, he is deaf, blind, and impotent. His senses
have been replaced by dials which inform him what is taking place.
Built into his helmet, for example, is an electroencephalographic
apparatus which can warn him of an imminent rarefaction of oxy-
gen before his senses could have told him. We can say he “subsists”
in abnormal conditions; but we cannot say he is adapted to them
in any really human sense. And his situation is not exceptional.

It is not only in work (which takes up a great part of his life)
that man encounters this transformation. His environment as a
whole— everything that goes to make up his milieu, his livelihood,
habitat, and habits — is modified. The machine has transformed
whatever is most immediately connected with him: home, furni-
ture, food. His dwelling place becomes more and more mecha-
nized, like a factory, through an extreme division of labor and the
organization of housework. Catherine Esther Beecher's 1 analysis
of the domestic function caused many people to feel sympathetic
in some degree toward the systematization of housework in the
nineteenth century, even though it seemed strange at first. Since
the thirties, however, the systematic organization of kitchen space
has been completely accepted, with its three “centers" of work (for
preparation, cooking, and washing), along with the “taylorization”
of the motions of cooking. Technical rigor has penetrated into the
domain of the unco-ordinated, the unconsidered, the individual,
and has resulted in the avoidance of motion, steps, time, and
fatigue. It has also put the housewife into a laboratory, into a
minutely ordered network of relentless motions representing slav-
ery a thousandfold more exacting than anything she knew in the
past. It is useless to insist on this point. France is on the threshold
of this transformation; it is already far advanced in the United
States. Even the most superficial observers can see that this trans-
formation of housework by the machine has brought about a com-
pletely different style of living. Wife and children no longer fulfill
their traditional function. A new relation exists between husband
and wife and between parent and child. The “hearth” no longer
has any meaning, and the patient building of family relations no
raison detre. A different state of mind necessarily corresponds to

1 Miss Beecher ( 1800-78) wrote extensively on education for women. She held that
woman’s domestic function was paramount and for this reason opposed female
suffrage. (Trans.)

The Technological Society (3*7

a radically different state of affairs* But what state of mind? As yet,
no one seems to know. One’s first reaction is simply to say: "No
state of mind*

The machine is modifying household furnishings to an ever
greater degree. The interested reader is referred to Siegfried
Giedion’s work, which describes not only this modification of
household furniture but also the modification of the whole struc-
ture of housing. Giedion’s conclusion is that mechanization is "tyr-
annizing over housing.” Furniture and housing must of course
comply with the necessities of mass production. Both must undergo
modification because of the mechanization of household interiors;
a house must be conceived less for the comfort of its occupants
than for the accommodation of the numerous mechanical gadgets
to be installed in it.

In a different area of private life, there is the wide range of ef-
fects mechanization has had upon food, for example, through the
various new methods of preservation and storage. I have already
mentioned the profound modification of bread, which has become
a chemical substance of very different composition from that pro-
duced from simple cereal grains. Beginning with Sylvester Gra-
ham’s Treatise on Bread , a number of studies have shown to what
degree the organic structure of bread has been modified by the
machine and by the science of chemistry. The result was a pro-
found modification of taste, as if "the consumers, by an unconscious
reaction, adapted their taste to the type of bread which corre-
sponded exactly to the demands of mass production* Mechaniza-
tion shattered the age-old character of bread and converted it into a
valueless article of fashion. This statement is not an aesthetic judg-
ment or a lingering romanticism, but rather the result of exact tech-
nical studies, a technical fact established by technicians; this in it-
self presupposes it is not a value judgment. We are registering a fact
and not nostalgia for the old whole-wheat bread of our ancestors.
It is a fact of the same order as the retreat of wine before Coca-
Cola; the ancient "civilization of wine* is becoming obsolescent as
a result of an industrial product

Just as material surroundings — the nearest humblest, and most
personal — have been modified, so have the broader and more ab-
stract elements of fife. Work, rest and food, and time, space, and
movement as welt no longer have any connection with traditional

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

3 **)

forms. It is commonly said that with the new modes of transport
distance no longer exists; and, indeed, man has vanquished space.
He is able to travel about the entire globe. He meets men of other
races. He becomes a cosmopolite and a citizen of the world, less,
it may be added, through his own will and ideals than through the
mechanical fact of easy transport.

But only a small minority of people use airlines, enter into rela-
tions with the world, and see space stretch out before them. For
the overwhelming majority, although space has not remained tra-
ditional, it has undergone an inverse evolution. The world's popula-
tion has increased tenfold in a very short time. In particular, the
population of France has almost trebled in a century and a half,
so that we have, in effect, only one third the amount of room per
capita that we formerly had. No longer are there any lonely moun-
tains and deserted seacoasts. Solitude is no longer possible; space
is at such a premium that men jostle one another everywhere. Quite
apart from the solitude of relaxation, we no longer have even the
normal solitude which implies sufficient space to live other than as
if in a prison cell or at a factory workbench. Living and working
traditionally meant open space, a no man's land separating a man
from his fellows. But there is no longer any possibility of that.

Man has always known wide horizons. Even the city dweller had
direct contact with limitless plains, mountains, and seas. Beyond
the enclosing walls of the medieval city, was open country. At most
the citizen had to walk five hundred yards to reach the city walls,
where space, fair and free, suddenly extended before him. Today
man knows only bounded horizons and reduced dimensions. The
space not only of his movements but of his gaze is shrinking. The
paradox is characteristic of our times, that to the abstract conquest
of Space by Man (capitalized) corresponds the limitation of place
for men (in small letters). It is scarcely necessary to emphasize
the fact that this diminution of Lebensraum results indirectly from
techniques (through population growth) or directly from them
( through urban and industrial agglomeration ).

Modification of Time and Motion, In much the same way tech-
nique has modified human time. That man until recently got along
well enough without measuring time precisely is something we
never even think about, and that we do not think about it shows
to what a degree we have been affected by technique. What means

The Technological Society (329

there were in the past for measuring time belonged to the rich and,
until the fourteenth century, exerted no influence on real time or
on life. Until then, there were mechanical horologia which did not
so much mark the hour as indicate it very approximately by bells
or chimes. The clocktower, with its public clock, made its appear-
ance toward the end of the century. Until then, time had been
measured by life’s needs and events. At most, life had been regu-
lated since the fifth century by church bells; but this regulation
really followed a psychological and biological tempo. The time
man guided himself by corresponded to nature’s time; it was ma-
terial and concrete. It became abstract (probably toward the end
of the fourteenth century) when it was divided into hours, minutes,
and seconds. Little by little this mechanical kind of time, with its
knife-edge divisions, penetrated, along with machinery, into hu-
man life. The first private clocks appeared in the sixteenth century.
Thenceforward, time was an abstract measure separated from the
traditional rhythms of life and nature. It became mere quantity.
But since life is inseparable from time, life too was forced to submit
to the new guiding principle. From then on, life itself was measured
by the machine; its organic functions obeyed the mechanical. Eat-
ing, working, and sleeping were at the beck and call of machinery.
Time, which had been the measure of organic sequences, was
broken and dissociated. Human life ceased to be an ensemble, a
whole, and became a disconnected set of activities having no other
bond than the fact that they were performed by the same indi-
vidual.* Mechanical abstraction and rigidity permeated the whole
structure of being. "Abstract time became a new milieu, a new
framework of existence.” Today the human being is dissociated
from the essence of life; instead of living time, he is split up and
parceled out by it. Lewis Mumford is right in calling the clock
the most important machine of our culture. And he is right too in
asserting that the clock has made modern progress and efficiency
possible through its rapidity of action and the co-ordination it ef-

* Enrico Castelli'i study Le Temps harcelant extends our observations into the realm
of the psychological. He shows how the man of the technical world lives without
past or future and how the loss of the sense of duration deprives law and language
of their meaning. According to Castelli, modern man lives in a universe in which
technique has divested language of its meaning and value. If this formula seems
exaggerated, I would direct you to Castelli's book, to see its essential truth.

The book stresses the fact that technique, as a result of the perfection of means
which it has placed at the disposal of modern man, has effectively suppressed tho

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

33 °)

fects in man’s daily activities. All organization of work and study of
motion is based on the clock.

There is a third general, nonmaterial element of human life
which, along with space and time, has been profoundly modified
by technique: motion. Here, too, we observe the same process.
Motion is the spontaneous expression of life, its visible form. Every-
thing alive chooses of itself its attitudes, orientations, gestures, and
rhythms. There is, perhaps, nothing more personal to a living being
— as far as the observer is concerned — than its movements. In
reality there is no such thing as movement in general; there are
only the movements of individual things.

Technique, however, considers the matter very differently. Gil-
breth’s ingenuity consisted in analyzing the notions of an indi-
vidual and thus rendering them abstract. There was no longer a
being in motion, but a point; not a series of acts, but a curve, a
trajectory in abstract space and time. It is true that human activi-
ties bear certain resemblances to one another, and by synthesizing
them it is possible to arrive at precise laws of their motion. More-
over, every human skill in action is based upon a complex of funda-
mental principles common to all. It is therefore possible to specify
not only the laws which govern them but also their exact trajec
tories. This supposes, first, the abstraction of motion, and second,
its analysis. Motion is dissected into discrete aspects so that its
form appears phenomenally, point by point. The immediate conse-
quence of such analysis is that motion becomes completely dis-
joined from personal and internal life. Technical analysis concen-
trates on the efficient cause of human actions and eliminates as
secondary everything that expresses human personality. Action is
no longer a real function of the person who perform? it; it is a
function of abstract and ideal symbols, which become its sole
criteria.

As long as we restrict ourselves to scientific investigation, such at-

respite of time indispensable to the rhythm of life; between desire and the satis-
faction of desire there is no longer the duration which is necessary for real choice
and examination. There is no longer respite for reflecting or choosing or adapting
oneself, or for acting or wishing or pulling oneself together. The rule of life is: No
sooner said than done. Life has become a racecourse composed of instantaneous
variations of the universe, a succession of objective events which drag us along and
lead us astray without anywhere affording us the possibility of standing apart,
taking stock, and ceasing to act

The Technological Society ( 3 3 1

tempts to analyze motion are completely acceptable. But as far as
concrete reality is concerned, they must be judged futile. However,
these analyses Soon showed their compelling power, and were ap-
plied to an ever increasing degree to the modification of the worker s
practical motions. The problem of the regulation of these move-
ments in industry is so well known that I need not refer to it here.
But this type of regulation is gaining ground outside the sphere of
manual labor. All the machines of our technological society pre-
suppose to an ever greater degree the perfect motions Gilbreth
defined in his trajectories. The more rapidly our machines operate,
the more precise they must be, and the less we can allow ourselves
the luxury of using them arbitrarily. This is as true of the machines
we have in our houses as of the machines we meet on the street.
Our movements must approach perfection to the degree that the
machines approach it and continue to increase in number. Our mo-
tions are no longer entitled to express our own personalities. It
suffices to take one look at distracted and panicky elderly people
in the middle of a Paris street to understand that modern velocities
render motion abstract and no longer tolerate imperfect motions
just because they are human.

We still do not know the ultimate effects of these transforma-
tions on the human being. We have only begun to study them.
Precisely what is modified in man by tins violent upheaval of
every element of his environment? We do not know. But we do
know that violent modifications have taken place, and we have a
foreboding of them in the development of neuroses and in the new
behaviors with which contemporary literature acquaints us. In
ceasing to be himself, modem man bears testimony to these phe-
nomena not only when he suffers anxiety but even when he is
happy. For the last decade scientific studies have been accumulat-
ing which demonstrate man's psychological, moral, and even bio-
logical incapacity to adapt in any real way to the milieu technique
has created for him. Careful studies have analyzed the nervous
afflictions brought on by industrial work; but contact with other
kinds of machines (for example, automobiles, television) or the
life of the technician in general apparently produce the same ef-
fects. The November i960 issue of Semaines mMicales de Paris ,
on the basis of information contributed by 4,000 physicians all over
the world, offers a study of a new disease of great complexity which

33 2 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

is brought on by modem city life and which might be called urban -

itis.

Some investigators have already become engrossed in the ques-
tion of a better adaptation of man to his new milieu. For example,
they are concerned with the necessity of giving man the means of
"assimilating the machine,” or of assimilating its lessons, of causing
it to become a part of human life. It is generally agreed that with-
out such assimilation it is impossible to transcend the machine or
to arrive at a new form of society. This assimilation is the prime
objective of the so-called human sciences, the sciences which have
man as their subject.

Furthermore, it is necessary to protect man by outfitting him
with a kind of psychological shock absorber. Only another tech-
nique is able to give efficient protection against the aggression of
techniques. This protection is the second objective of the human

sciences.

We shall examine later on whether it is reasonable to hope to
create a genuinely human civilization by transcending the ma-
chine with the aid of the human sciences. At this point let us
remark merely that it is precisely the need to diagnose and cure
this disease that is offered as both justification and demand for the
creation of new human techniques.

The Creation of the Mass Society . There is a third area in which
human techniques are applied, and it represents a further cause of
disequilibration for the human being seeking to adapt to his new
milieu.

It is a truism to state that contemporary society is becoming a
mass society. The "process of massification,” “the accession of the
masses” have been thoroughly studied and understood. Less well
understood, however, is the fact that the man of the present is not
spontaneously adapted to the new form of society. Previous socie-
ties took their character to a very large degree from the men in
them. Technical or economic conditions imposed certain sociologi-
cal structures, but the human being was in essential agreement with
these structures, and the form society took expressed the psy-
chology of the individual. This is no longer true. The process of
massification takes place not because the man of today is by
nature a mass man, but for technical reasons. Man becomes a mass
man in the new framework imposed upon him because he is unable

The Technological Society (333

to remain for very long at variance with his milieu. The adaptation
of men to a mass society is not yet an accomplished fact; and recent
research in the field of psychoanalytic sociology has revealed the
gap which still exists between man and the collective society, a
gap which is the cause of disequilibration. Every society has norms
which represent a criterion of the normal. When these norms
change their character, a disturbance of equilibrium ensues and,
for the man who has not kept pace with the changes, neurosis.
There is no doubt that the norms of our civilization have changed
for reasons which are not "human”; men as a whole had no desire
for the changes that occurred nor did they work toward them con-
sciously. Indirect influences have operated on the norms of modern
society, and these norms have been transformed without men
knowing what was happening.

It seems to me that Karen Homey 1 s analysis of this disequilibra-
tion is accurate. According to Homey, our civilization (or so men
believe) still attests to a secularized Christian ideology which sets
the highest value on brotherly relations. But the structures of our
world and its real norms represent diametrically the opposite. The
fundamental rule of the world today is the rule of economic,
political, and class competition — and this competition extends to
the social and human relations of friendship and sex. The dis-
equilibration between the traditional affirmation and the new cri-
terion has produced the climate of anxiety and insecurity charac-
teristic of our epoch and of our neuroses, and corresponds exactly
to the distinction between the individualist society and the mass
society.

The human being does not feel at home in the collective at-
mosphere. This is true of societies that differ in many ways among
themselves; it applies to the primitive sociological collectivism of
Africa, to the individualistic civilization of Europe, and to the col-
lective adaptation of a higher type in the United States. In all these
societies everyone is affected by a certain malaise. The change of
sociological structures is occurring at a very rapid tempo and af-
fects everyone; and the state demands an immediate collective
effort from all the citizens. A sufficient respite is never afforded the
individual to allow him to assimilate all the new criteria.

The process of massification corresponds, moreover, to the dis-
appearance of anything resembling a community. The majority of

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

334 )

American psychosociologists insist on the importance of human
social relations for the individual. As Jerome Scott and R. P.
Lynton put it: "Every man requires emotional and intellectual
satisfactions which alone secure for him his belonging to a com-
munity.” When this need is suppressed, neuroses result. Some ex-
perts even maintain that most obsessive neurosis springs from a
failure of social adaptation and from the suppression of community
relations, for which technical relations are substituted, as Roeth-
lisbergerhas pointed out.

This new sociological mass structure and its new criteria of
civilization seem both inevitable and undeniable. They are inevita-
ble because they are imposed by technical forces and economic
considerations beyond the reach of man. They are not the result of
thought, doctrine, discourse, will. They are simply there as a con-
dition of fact. All social reforms, all social changes , are located
wholly within this condition of fact , unless they are purely utopian.
When social change is truly realistic, it accepts this condition buoy-
antly, vindicates it, and exploits it. Only two possibilities are left
to the individual: either he remains what he was, in which case he
becomes more and more unadapted, neurotic, and inefficient, loses
his possibilities of subsistence, and is at last tossed on the social
rubbish heap, whatever his talents may be; or he adapts himself to
the new sociological organism, which becomes his world, and he
becomes unable to live except in a mass society. (And then he
scarcely differs from a cave man.) But to heroine a mass man en-
tails a tremendous effort of psychic mutation. The purpose of the
techniques which have man as their object, the so-called human
techniques, is to assist him in this mutation, to help him find the
quickest way. to calm his fears, and reshape his heart and his brain.

When we look into technical rather than theoretical works on
this subject, the design emerges with great clarity. "It is a question
of strengthening the environment in such a way that, in practice,
all subjects come more or less quickly under its influence,” says
Claude Munson, from a pragmatic American point of view. If inte-
gration proves impossible, it is then necessary to uproot the indi-
vidual from one social environment and place him in another where
adaptation is possible. Somehow provision must be made for the
individual to reach the glorious state of equilibrium so desired by
those who guide human destiny — the state in which the individual

The Technological Society (335

is so adapted that his personal difficulties are no different from
those of the collectivity. He is no longer a man in a group* but an
element of the group.

It is remarkable that mass participation distracts the individual
from his miseries and even dispels them. After all, the process of
massification was itself the origin of mans psychic difficulties!

Another aspect of this adaptation is the adjustment of the in-
dividual to technical instruments. The instruments in our posses-
sion are, in effect, mass instruments, both in the realm of material
action and in that of psychological action. If at present we desire to
exert any influence on man, it is possible to do so only through the
mass media and only to the degree that man is a mass man. I shall
return to this fact with reference to mass education and to propa-
ganda methods, both of which are able to move the mass individual
only by "massifying” him more and more.

The nonspontaneous union of the individual and the collectivity
is one of the essential conditions for the development of techniques
in the special sociological form they take in our society. This union
is, as we shall see, one of the most noteworthy results of the tech-
niques devoted to man. In this connection it is an oversimplifica-
tion to speak of “collectivization*' or "human guidance.” This com-
plete mutation of the human species has not been produced by a
collectivist theory or by someone's will to power. The cause is
much more profound, at once human and inhuman; inhuman be-
cause it is occasioned by things and circumstances, human because
it answers the heart's desire of every modern man, without excep-
tion.

We have studied the threefold foundation of the indispensable
human techniques: the superhuman demands made on man by
present-day society, the complete modification of the human en-
vironment, and the alteration of sociological structures. Man, in
fundamental disaccord with his universe, must of necessity be
restored to harmony with it.

Human Techniques, It thus became imperative to rethink the
whole situation of man in his new world. But thinking things
through seemed altogether insufficient; it was necessary to act Ac-
tion upon the techniques themselves appeared to be impossible.
The question therefore became: Is it not possible to act upon man
himself? To help him resist? To protect him, perhaps; to educate

33 6) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

him, certainly? The applications of the human sciences were
worked out along these lines of thought.

In our day human techniques offer great hopes to man, sorely
beset by anxiety. Not long ago an extensive survey of the different
scientific disciplines appeared under the title: The Sciences of
Man Re-establish His Supremacy . Man, menaced by his own dis-
coveries and no longer capable of mastering the forces unleashed
by them, is to have his greatness restored by human techniques.
The grounds for hope given in the survey by Georges Fried-
mann, Alain Sargent, Jean Fourastie, Georges Weill, Chombart de
Lowe, J. Gueron, and others are reducible to three elements:

First, the liberation of man, not by technique in general, but spe-
cifically through the agency of human techniques, a liberation
which proceeds as much from within man as from without. With
the help of the human sciences, man will be freed from technocracy
itself. Technique will combat slavery. According to Chombart de
Lowe, research in this area must be completely disinterested and
free from any preoccupation with immediate application. Tech-
niques are in a position to offer man a saner and more balanced
life and to free him from material constraints, whether these arise
from nature or from the actions of other men. The human being
is freer when he is no longer in danger of famine and when he has
some leisure from labor. Technique is in great part the basis of
this freedom. In addition, the human techniques purify and free
the inner man; this, for example, is the grand design of psycho-
analysis. Man, freed and returned to himself, will be much better
adapted to life and to the mastery of the difficulties with which the
modem world confronts him.

The second element is less hackneyed: the world of techniques
is no longer the abstract and mechanical world imagined by its
critics and by the technocrats themselves. We have known for some
time that technique is of little value if it has not been rendered
tractable by man. Humanism, then, has been restored to its place
of honor; to act contrary to the profundities of human nature is to
act irrationally. This represents, for the most part, a merely verbal
and ideological humanism. There may have been some genuinely
humanistic aspects in modem discoveries, but for the most part
they have been primarily technical. A good method applied by an
imbecile does not yield good results; and a technique used by a

The Technological Society (337

man full of rancor, disgust, or resentment, or by a man who detests
it, will not be very efficient. Research therefore has taken two di-
rections. It has concerned itself with making the interests of man
and technique correspond, thus rendering technique flexible. It
has also attempted to take human nature into account in order to
keep man from being crushed by technique, thereby becoming an
obstacle to technique. On both these counts there has been an un-
ceasing effort to refine our knowledge of human techniques in order
to bridge the gap between man and technique. The claims of the
human being have thus come to assert themselves to a greater and
greater degree in the development of techniques; this is known as
"humanizing the techniques/' Man is not supposed to be merely a
technical object, but a participant in a complicated movement.
His fatigue, pleasures, nerves, and opinions are carefully taken into
account Attention is paid to his reactions to orders, his phobias,
and his earnings. All this fills the uneasy With hope. From the mo-
ment man is taken seriously, it seems to them that they are wit-
nessing the creation of a technical humanism.

The third element of hope is the fact that these human tech-
niques have tended to reconstitute the unity of the human being
which had been shattered by the sudden and jarring action of
technique. The grand design of human techniques is to make man
the center of all techniques. He has been torn in every direction
by the technical forces of the modem world and is no longer able
of himself, at least on an individual level, to preserve his unity.
But this lost unity can be restored by technique on the abstract
level of science. There is no doubt that technique can counter tech-
nique; and abstractly man can thereby be restored to unity. A
group of techniques is to be formed, therefore, centered on a con-
cept of man and activated by the human techniques.

There is a fourth glorious element: the prospect of the creation
of a "superman * He will not appear tomorrow. But serious biolo-
gists already speak of the possibilities of chemical conditioning in
the near future, and, more distantly, of parthenogenesis and ecto-
genesis, and embryonic conditioning. It is useless to dwell on these
theories here; they are only remote possibilities. However, it is
instructive to see how many intellectuals hope to find in the crea-
tion of superman the solution of all the otherwise insoluble prob-
lems posed to the common man by the technical world in which

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

338 )

he lives. Of course the superman I speak of has nothing to do with
Superman, the American comic-strip character. Man’s power is not
the issue here, but his intellectual and psychic life, to say nothing
of his spiritual life.

It would be idle to deny all reality to such hopes. To a great
degree these auguries are justified. Technical knowledge does give
us new insights into human reality and can serve toward its unifi-
cation.

Among the elements I have summarized, the most important is
undoubtedly the second. The concrete details of man’s life with
respect to technical apparatus must be taken into consideration on
the human plane. The fatigue factor is important; and the indi-
vidual’s labor must be planned to reduce fatigue. It is essential in
constructing machinery to avoid uncomfortable or dangerous situa-
tions for the operator, and to modify the wage earner’s milieu to
give him more pleasure, light, and the freedom and fellow feeling
indispensable to him. It is desirable to show concern for the
worker’s dwelling place, for the comfort of the housewife’s kitchen,
for the lighting of the children's rooms; in short, for any factor
that will obviously be of advantage to all. Who could believe the
contrary or plead for slums or worker casualties?

However, a certain misunderstanding must be avoided. The
word humanism is often spoken in connection with the situation I
have described. Humanism is essentially a certain conception of
man. And, it develops, this is an astonishing conception of man, a
conception that involves contempt for man’s inner life to the ad-
vantage of his sociological life, contempt of his moral and intel-
lectual life to the advantage of his material life. This position is
admissible for conscious materialists; but I cannot admit it for the
unconscious materialists who are always prating of their spiritu-
ality. The argument that moral development will follow material
development can only be characterized as hypocrisy. Moreover,
it has not always been a voluntary and conscious humanism which
has presided over this progress. If we seek the real reason, we hear
over and over again that there is “something out of line” in the
technical system, an insupportable state of affairs for a technician.
A remedy must be found. What is out of line? According to the
usual superficial analysis, it is man that is amiss. The technician

The Technological Society (339

thereupon tackles the problem as he would any other. He has a
method which has hitherto enabled him to solve all difficulties, and
he uses it here too. But he considers man only as an object of
technique and only to the degree that man interferes with the
proper function of the technique. Technique reveals its essential
efficiency in discerning that man has a sentimental and moral life
which can have great influence on his material behavior and in pro-
posing to do something about such factors on the basis of its own
ends. These factors are, for technique, human and subjective; but
if means can be found to act upon them, to rationalize them and
bring them into line, they need not be a technical drawback. Of
course, man as such does not count

When the technical problem is well in hand, the professional
humanists look at the situation and dub it “humanist .” This pro-
cedure suits the literati, moralists, and philosophers who are con-
cerned about the human situation. What is more natural than for
philosophers to say: “See how we are concerned with Man?”; and
for their literary admirers to echo: “At last, a humanism which is
not confined to playing with ideas but which penetrates the facts!”
Unfortunately, it is a historical fact that this shouting of humanism
always comes after the technicians have intervened; for a true
humanism, it ought to have occurred before. This is nothing more
than the traditional psychological maneuver called rationalizing.

Since 1947 we have witnessed the same humanist rationalizing
with respect to the earth itself. In the United States, for example,
methods of large-scale agriculture had been savagely applied. The
humanists became alarmed by this violation of the sacred soil,
this lack of respect for nature; but the technical people troubled
themselves not at all until a steady decline in agricultural pro-
ductivity became apparent Technical research discovered that the
earth contains certain trace elements which become exhausted
when the soil is mistreated. This discovery, made by Sir Albert
Howard in his thorough investigation of Indian agriculture, led to
the conclusion that animal and vegetable (“organic”) fertilizers
were superior to any and all artificial fertilizers, and that it is es-
sential not to exhaust the earth's reserves. Up to now no one has
succeeded in finding a way of replacing trace elements artificially.
The technicians have recommended more care in the use of fer-
tilizers and moderation in the utilization of machinery; in short.

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

34 °)

“respect” for the soil. And all nature lovers rejoice. But was any
real respect for the earth involved here? Clearly not. The impor-
tant thing was agricultural yield.

It might be objected: “Who cares what the real causes were if
the result is respect for man or for nature? If technical excess
brings us to wisdom, let us by all means develop techniques. If
man must be effectively protected by a technique that understands
him, we may at least rest assured that he will be better protected
than he ever was by all his philosophies.” This is hocus-pocus. To-
day's technique may respect man because it is in its interest and
part of its normal course of development to do so. But we have
no certainty that this will be so in the future. We could have a
measure of certainty only if technique, by necessity and for deep
and lasting reasons, subordinated its power in principle to the in-
terests of man Otherwise, a complete reversal is always possible.
Tomorrow it might be in technique’s interest to exploit man bru-
tally, to mutilate and suppress him. We have, as of now, no guaran-
tee whatsoever that this is not the road it will take. On the contrary,
we see all around us at least as many signs of increasing contempt
for man as of respect for him. Technique mixes the one with the
other indiscriminately. The only law it follows is that of its own
autonomous development. To me, therefore, it seems impossible
to speak of a technical humanism.

Review

Right at the beginning, let us emphasize that we are studying
technique.

It was thought for a long time that man's conduct belonged to
the realm of art, and it can certainly be said that Freudian psy-
choanalysis is an art. Behavior based on flair, on intuitive as well
as reasoned knowledge, and on personal relations; the spontaneous
devising of means for influencing heart and mind; the whole-
hearted participation of man in his acts — all these are characteristic
of art Great leaders, great teachers, and agitators have all been
artists. But art and artistry no longer suffice. We must find solu-
tions to the problems raised by techniques, and only through
technical means can we find them.

The Technological Society (34*

The means of exerting action on men must answer to the fol-
lowing three criteria: (1) Generality. Every man must be reached
in every area of life because everyone is involved. Individual ac-
tion is unimportant, (a) Objectivity. Action, since it is a function
of society itself, cannot be dependent upon the transient and sub-
jective acts of individuals. The means must be rendered independ-
ent of the individual who employs them so as to make them ap-
plicable by anyone at all. This criterion alone would imply the
transition from art to technique. (3) Permanence. Since the techni-
cal challenge to man concerns his whole life, psychic action must
be exerted upon him without letup, from the beginning of his
existence to its end.

Localized intervention by the great or powerful can no longer be
relied upon. And action by fits and starts is not enough; it must be
steady and uniform. Because the transition to practical application
must be effected quickly, it is scarcely possible to speak of science.
The problem is to discover the most effective means; one is there-
fore obliged to call the whole complex technique , in spite of the
lofty tone taken by people who put their faith in the “human
sciences.” When Serge Tchakhotin writes, with reference to prop-
aganda, that “the understanding of the mechanisms of human
behavior entails the possibility of managing them at will” . . . and
that “calculation, prediction, and action according to verifiable
laws are possible,” he is describing human techniques accurately.

Three facts demonstrate the reality of the transition of action
from art to technique. The first is the state of mind common to the
technicians who make use of human techniques. They arbitrarily
select only those scientific data which seem useful and are disdain-
fully condescending toward whatever data are not utilizable. In
psychology and psychoanalysis, for example, vocational counselors
£nd propagandists make a definite choice. In the field of practical
psychology known as “public relations” ( as practiced by, say, Dale
Carnegie or Claude Munson), a certain suspicion of theoretical and
abstract psychology prevails; and certain indispensable simplifica-
tions are made. Munson writes that “the mechanism of morale
building is neither simpler nor less technical than a problem in
mechanics. Both require a clear conception of the objective, the
elaboration of a plan of methodical execution, the knowledge of
all the co-operating factors, a central agent entrusted with the direc-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

342)

tion and verification of the operations, a thorough study of meth-
ods, and so on/’ Munson, moreover, calls attention to “a remark-
able unpredictability” for which every technician must make al-
lowance. He writes : “Without being able to point out in advance
the solution for a particular case, one at least knows that the solu-
tion will fit into a determinate type to which certain general prin-
ciples are applicable.” Munson has in mind a program of all the
different forms of deliberate persuasion, a program with technical
precision and flexibility.

A second characteristic of the transition from art to technique is
the extensive application of mathematics. Biometry, psychometry,
sociometry, and cybernetics have become the chief intermediaries
for creating these techniques. It is considered illusory to think it
possible to construct a true system of action from nonquantitative
laws and observations. This was the traditional stumbling block for
psychological techniques. When the attempt was first made to
create a true technique of propaganda, for example, biology, an
exact science, was taken as the basis. Subsequently, other exact
disciplines were called upon; for example, public opinion polls and
statistics. Progress in this and other human techniques came about
only when the human sciences took on the exactitude of mathe-
matics. Only metric methods can analyze and predict efficiently.
It is striking to note, incidentally, that metric methods applied in
different kinds of political regimes by different kinds of technicians
come to the same result. This too is characteristic of techniques.
In this respect, I find a remark made by Paul H. Maucorps very
much to the point. Speaking of American sociometry, Maucorps
says: “It is interesting to observe that this sociometry has the same
practical conclusions as the so-called Stakhanovism.” Rubinstein
makes the same observation from the Soviet point of view.

The third characteristic element in the transition from art to
technique is the appearance of the technical-experimental state of
mind. It is admittedly difficult to test human techniques experi-
mentally. This is so for two reasons. These techniques cannot be
manipulated freely by the experimenter. Moreover, human society
forms a complicated whole, so that it is very difficult to achieve
the two conditions necessary for technical experimentation, isola-
tion of phenomena and analysis of elements.

However, without having recourse to the dangerous and over-

The Technological Society (343

hasty methods of totalitarian states, experimenters in the field of
human techniques have found a particularly good experimental
field: the army. The army is a singularly favorable environment be-
cause the soldier is away from his customary framework. His social
ties have been severed, and he has been divested of his traditional
personality. He then forms completely new social ties; the resultant
collectivity can be studied from its inception, and isolated from
secondary and complicating influences. Such a collectivity, more-
over, lends itself to study and is easily observed from day to day.
The personality of each man is completely new, for with the new
uniform he assumes a new psychology.

The experiments on the army serve a twofold purpose. First, the
recruits are directly influenced in their actions and carry this in-
fluence back into civilian life, where their behavior will be predict-
able and they themselves will be easily manipulated. The civilian
population, therefore, can be influenced through the intermediacy
of the army, which is connected with the rest of society by links
that are being drawn tighter and tighter. Second, the knowledge
gained through experimentation on soldiers has indirect import-
ance. This knowledge can be applied to other, more complex mi-
lieus which might not lend themselves readily to experimentation,
even though they are similar to the army in kind. Examples which
come to mind are business organizations and, particularly, great
industrial plants. Methods found effective in the army are applied
to the plant; and in the process there is an inevitable tendency to
simplify human relations and to model after the military the indus-
trial collectives in which these techniques are applied. This in-
direct action is only slowly being felt; but the massive displacement
of workers, which is constantly increasing even in liberal coun-
tries, shows that, involuntarily, technique in the form of human
techniques is gradually gaining the upper hand.

Human techniques are of such multiplicity that any attempt to
describe them adequately would require a whole library. Even an
attempt to enumerate them would entail the loss of a cohesiveness
and compactness. There are techniques addressed to man as an
isolated individual and techniques addressed to man as a social
being. Some concern his mind and some his body; others touch his
will; still others that secret place where matter becomes spirit and
soul animates matter. Techniques are addressed to the child and

3 4 4 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

to the man, to the fetus and to the commissioner. They should be
ordered into a system, as in fact they are. In such a system the same
technique would be represented on different levels corresponding
to different ends. For example, psychoanalytic technique enters
into the mechanisms of propaganda, the modern school, and voca-
tional guidance. Here, however, l shall try only to describe as
soberly and briefly as possible the basic themes, subjects, and prin-
ciples of the problem. It would be useless to describe them at
length or in great detail. A condensed description will bring the
facts into sharp relief, and that must suffice.

Educational Technique . All of us who were adult in 1950 in
France preserved a vivid memory of dismal schools where teachers
were enemies and punishment was a constant menace; of narrow,
barred windows, gloomy brown walls, and uncomfortable benches
hollowed out by generations of bored students. The smell of sour
milk, dirty smocks and snot-nosed kids made a unique impression
that a young instructor would never forget. We well remcml>er
books without illustrations, incomprehensible lessons learned by
rote, discipline, and boredom. We had a healthy fear of the mas-
ters, upon whom we played our tricks. We feared some of our fel-
low pupils too, especially those who sat behind us, against whom
we were unarmed. The students were divided into the weak and the
Strong, much like an embryonic political structure where the weak
quickly band together. There was pitiless competition in respect
to studies, marks, and places. Categories were simple then: work
was a curse, the school iVaS a uuslile world, and the greater society
outside its walls seemed to be the same. All superiors were ene-
mies. There were the snivelers who wanted only to get by, and
the tough characters strong enough to dispense with the kind of
success school life offered. AH the rest were either cowed or re-
bellious, according to their natures. These were the ancient and
familiar categories of school life which were suddenly overthrown
by the extension of a series of techniques that we call techniques
de Vecole nouvelle — progressive education.

Progressive education has as its end the "happiness" of the child.
It entails bright classrooms, understanding teachers, and pleasur-
able work. Its educational formulas are well-known: the child in
school must be "relaxed" and enjoy himself; he must exist in a
"balanced environment," get rid of his "complexes," and “play

The Technological Society (34$

while he is learning” All this represents a perfectly valid program.
It has the elements of genial scholarship derived from the cele-
brated saying of Montaigne to the effect that we must stop cram-
ming children's skulls to pass the baccalaureate; supercharging
their brains with encyclopedic knowledge to the detriment of all
other activities. Education must seek, rather, to develop in a bal-
anced way all their faculties, physical, manual, psychic, and intel-
lectual, and in this last, it must seek to stress personal observation
and reasoning instead of rote learning. Moreover, the whole process
is supposed to take place with the minimum possible use of force.
It is essential to respect the person of the child and to individualize
instruction to the maximum. Instruction is part of total education
and is not addressed to the intelligence alone. Its method, based on
the maieutic 8 of Socrates, consists in bringing the child himself
to discover the properties of objects or, starting from facts he him-
self observes, the principles which underlie them. This educational
procedure is, however, a highly refined technique, detailed and
rigorous; and it makes the most exacting demands on the tech-
nician himself, who must indeed be a remarkable pedagogue to
be able to apply it It is not a mechanical technique that applies
itself almost ipso facto. The same holds for the majority of the
human techniques we shall discuss. The person of the technician
counts for a very great deal, especially since these techniques are in
their infancy.

Clearly, the child so educated will be much better balanced and
in a better position to develop his own personality. It is beside the
point to note how inadequately this program has been applied in
France and how meager have been its results. It has been a prob-
lem, for example, to recruit enough qualified teachers to make it
possible to assign students to classes of no more than fifteen. Diffi-
culties have been experienced in adapting the new methods to the
old-time examination programs, which remain unchanged; this of
course vitiates the system and results in overburdening the child.
There are difficulties with regard to school location and equipment.
But these stumbling blocks seem to me only of secondary impor-
tance. They represent transitional problems of adaptation which,

• Maieutic (from the Greek word for “midwife"): a term applied by Socrates to his
method of teaching which was designed to bring to clear consciousness what was
already present but hidden in the recesses of the mind. (Trans.)

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

346)

in the normal course of events, will disappear. In a "normalized”
society the new school is the only possible system; and when the
importance of the education it has to offer has been understood,
no sacrifice will be spared to secure the application of its method.
Recall the sacrifices of the Hitler regime and of the Communists in
behalf of education. The new education is a governing principle of
every modern political system and of technique as a whole.

We come here to one of the most important problems raised by
the new method: the child’s personality development The problem
is to put the child in the best possible situation and to prepare him
optimally for the tasks that await him. These are phrases that are
heard everywhere, as for example in the following statement drawn
from a speech of Mme Montessori to UNESCO:

We must awaken the child's social conscience. I know that it is a
complicated educational question, but the child who will become
the man must be able to understand life and its needs, the funda-
mental reason for all existence, the search for happiness ... He
must know exactly what he must do and what he must not do for
the good of humanity ... To reach these ends, we must prepare
the child to understand the meaning and necessity of the entente
among the nations. The organization of the peace devolves more
on education than on politics. To secure peace practically, we must
envision a humane education, psychopedagogij> which affects not
one nation but all men on earth . . . Education must become a
truly humane science to guide all men to judge the present situ-
ation correctly.

This statement seems to me truly remarkable in that it designates
candidly the end of psychopedagogic technique in the best pos-
sible circumstances, within a liberal and democratic conception of
man, state, and society. ( Mme Montessori is a liberal and speaks
for liberal countries.) I have taken Mme Montessori’ s statement by
way of example, but one could examine the purpose of this tech-
nique in numerous other pedagogical studies published in the past
few years.

We note first of all that this technique must be implemented by
the state, which alone has the means and the breadth to carry it
through. But the rigorous application of the psychopedagogic tech-
nique means the end of private instruction — and therefore of a
traditional freedom.

The Technological Society (347

Second, this technique is "pantocrator.”* It must be exercised
over all men. If one man is left who is not trained according to its
methods, there is the danger of his becoming a new Hitler. The
technique cannot be effected unless all children are obliged to par-
ticipate and all parents to co-operate. There can be no exceptions.
If only a minority are educated to comply, this technique can re-
solve none of the problems it is intended to meet. Mme Montes-
sori's statement is therefore neither a metaphor nor an exaggera-
tion; all human beings, without exception, must be reached. We
note again the aggressive character of technique. Mme Montessori
emphasizes the fact that “it is necessary to free the child from the
slavery of school and family*’ for him to enter the cycle of freedom
proper to this technique. However, this freedom consists in a
profound and detailed surveillance of the child's activities, a com-
plete shaping of his spiritual life, and a precise regulation of his
time with a stop watch; in short, in habituating him to a joyful
serfdom. The most important aspect of this technique is the forced
orientation toward it. It is a social force directed toward a social
end.

The education of the child, however, is not directed toward some
merely abstract social end. Concretely, the child must develop a
social conscience, understand that the meaning of life is the good
of humanity, and grasp the need for an entente among all nations.
These ideas are much less vague than one might think. The good
of humanity, for example, is not the obscure notion the philoso-
phers pretend it to be. At most, it varies somewhat with the
political regime; and even this variability is becoming less and less
pronounced. Compare Life magazine with the Soviet News and
you will see that the “good of humanity” is conceived in almost
identical terms in the United States and in the Soviet Union; the
difference lies mainly in the persons charged with securing it In
both cases, the social good can be reduced to a few concrete and
precise factors. The corresponding educational technique, as a
consequence, takes a completely determinate direction. Social con-
formism must be impressed upon the child: he must be adapted to
his society; he must not impair its development. His integration
into the body social must be assured with the least possible friction.

4 Pantocrator — * Greek word signifying "omnipotent.'’ It was an epithet applied to
Yahweh, Lord of Hosts, and to the Byzantine emperors. (Trans.)

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

348)

This technique of alleged liberation of the child cannot be ori-
ented differently, even if it were so desired. The technique permits
the broadening of the child, the development of his social per-
sonality and happiness, and consequently, of his equilibrium. Op-
position to society, the lack of social adaptation, produces serious
personality difficulties which lead to the loss of psychic equilib-
rium. One of the most important factors in the child's education
therefore is social adaptation. This means that— despite all the
pretentious talk about the aims of education — it is not the child
in and for himself who is being educated, but the child in and for
society. And the society, moreover, is not an ideal one, with full
justice and truth, but society as it is.

When a society becomes increasingly totalitarian (and I say
"society,” not “state”), it creates more and more difficulties of
adaptation and requires its citizens to be conformist in the same
degree. Thus, this technique becomes all the more necessary. I
have no doubt that it makes men better balanced and “happier.”
And there is the danger. It makes men happy in a milieu which
normally would have made them unhappy, if they had not been
worked on, molded, and formed for just that milieu. What looks
like the apex of humanism is in fact the pinnacle of human sub-
mission: children are educated to become precisely what society
expects of them. They must have social consciences that allow
them to strive for the same ends as society sets for itself. Clearly,
when modem youth are fully educated in the new psychupedagogic
technique, many social and political difficulties will disappear. Any
form of government or social transformation becomes possible with
individuals who have experienced this never-ending process of
adaptation. The key word of the new human techniques is, there-
fore, adaptation , and we shall come upon it repeatedly as we con-
sider each of these techniques separately.

The new pedagogical methods correspond exactly to the role
assigned to education in modem technical society. The Napoleonic
conception that the Lycees must furnish administfators for the
state and managers for the economy, in conformity with social
needs and tendencies, has become world-wide in its extent. Ac-
cording to this conception, education no longer has a humanist end
or any value in itself; it has only one goal, to create technicians. A

The Technological Society (349

survey conducted by the newspaper Combat In 1950 appeared
under the headline: Higher Education Has No Relation to Indus -
trial Needs . A survey conducted by Le Monde in 1952 began with
the words: “There are too many half-baked intellectuals and not
enough technicians.* It would be useless to multiply such refer-
ences. They are literally infinite in number since they express every-
body's feelings in the matter. Instruction must be useful in life.
Today's life is technique. It follows, then, that instruction must
above all else be technical. This is all very well for the individual
preoccupied with finding a trade or a profession; but we find the
same tendency when we look at society as a whole. Technique has
again effected the reconciliation of individual and society.

Education, even in France, is becoming oriented toward the spe-
cialized end of producing technicians; and, as a consequence, to-
ward the creation of individuals useful only as members of a tech-
nical group, on the basis of the current criteria of utility — individ-
uals who conform to the structure and the needs of the technical
group. The intelligentsia will no longer be a model, a conscience,
or an animating intellectual spirit for the group, even in the sense
of performing a critical function. They will be the servants, the
most conformist imaginable, of the instruments of technique. As
Louis Couffignal puts it, the human brain must be made to conform
to the much more advanced brain of the machine. And education
will no longer be an unpredictable and exciting adventure in
human enlightenment, but an exercise in conformity and an ap-
prenticeship to whatever gadgetry is useful in a technical world.
The Technique of Work. The day is still a long way off when we
will have at our disposal men educated in accordance with the
new methods. It will be another half century at the earliest before
they mature; time is needed for organizing them. In France we
must count on two decades for generalizing them and breaking
them in and on another two decades for the results to become
evident in the whole generation so educated. The tempo of change
will perhaps be more rapid in the United States and in the Soviet
Union and less rapid in the rest of Europe.

In the meantime, society must continue to function. During the
interim period, another powerful system of adaptation will be put
into effect: the complex of work techniques. This technical complex

3S<>) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

includes vocational guidance, the organization of labor, the physi-
ology of work, and so on. Here again we find the assertion that
progress is in the direction of a certain "humanism.”

Work techniques began with the world of the machine and dis-
played scant regard for human beings. Machines were invented
and assembled, buildings were put up around them, and men were
put inside. For fifty years the procedure was completely haphazard.
Then it was noted that the worker's productivity could be markedly
increased by imposing certain rules on him. The result was the sys-
tem associated with the names of the Americans Frederick Winslow
Taylor and Henry Ford. As Georges Friedmann has shown, they
took nothing into consideration beyond the necessities of produc-
tion and the maximum utilization of the machine; they completely
ignored the serfdom these factors entail — with their production
lines, their infinite subdivision of tasks, and so on.

The objection will be raised, and rightly so, that this system was
gradually changed and eventually became concerned not so much
with questions of maximal exploitation as with optimal results.
Worker fatigue (a topic we still don’t know enough about) became
the subject of intense investigations. The importance of the human
factor was recognized. And it even began to be recognized that
this was insufficient, that man was still only one "factor” among
many, and not the most important. It became necessary to recog-
nize the primacy of the whole human being, to adapt the work to
the man, and to take the worker s psychological equilibrium into
consideration. It goes without saying that the motive force behind
all this was the recognition that human psychology reacts directly
upon productivity. When the worker feels that he is in a hostile
environment and in an economic system opposed to his interests,
he will not work (and this is involuntary) with the same ardor
and skill. All this, according to Friedmann, posed the problem of
the economic regime as a whole. Economic improvement is not of
itself a strong enough tendency to allow the worker as producer
to benefit from technical progress, although he may have benefited
greatly from it as consumer. Purely material transformations in
the conditions of labor are insufficient. They are doubtless neces-
sary to begin with, but physiological adaptation is not the only
kind. Hygiene and safety must indeed be improved; the best loca-
tion must be selected, and even music may have to be exploited

The Technological Society ( 3 5 1

to make labor more rhythmic and less disagreeable. But this is still
not enough. The true problem is psychological. The worker is con-
fronted by cut-and-dried procedures that must be carried out in
unvarying sequence in order that work be systematic, rational, and
efficient; he is bored, slowed down, and psychologically con-
strained. It is necessary to arouse in him reflective thought and to
make him participate in the life of the entire plant. He must be
made to feel a community of interest; the idea that his labor has
social meaning must be instilled in him. In short, he must be inte-
grated into the enterprise in which he is working. This integration
will take different forms in different countries. It may take the form
of a manufacturing structure like that of Bata, 5 or it may consist of
social, sports, or educational arrangements. Integration may mean
worker participation in finance or management or, in an extreme
case, the application of a thorough system such as “public rela-
tions” or “human engineering.” It suffices here to point out some
of the many techniques of integration without going into their
quite varied mechanisms.

Some excellent results have been achieved along this line. For
example, the tendency to adapt the machine to man and to assert
man's primacy over the machine has produced a body of respect-
able research. Until recently, very few designers and manufacturers
of machine tools bothered much about the workers who were to use
the took It represents enormous progress for them to acknowledge
that machines should be built with the workers in mind, that
the human being ought to be the point of departure. However,
the further they advance in this direction, the more complicated the
problem appears. They were at first concerned primarily with the
elimination of physical fatigue; having succeeded in this, they
find that nervous or mental fatigue is now a problem. Business
machines are highly adapted to the worker from a material point
of view; physical effort has been almost completely reduced by the
progressive elimination of fatigue due to standing, sensory Over-
burdening, and the need for overtime work. But the reduction of
physical effort has only served to increase fatigue due to mental
concentration, reflex attention, and dissymmetry of motion, factors
which rapidly produce nervous exhaustion. It was certainly not

* Thomas Bata ( 1876-1932 ) was a Czech industrialist who made his shoe factories
at Zlin into a federation of independent ‘‘studios." ( Trans. )

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

353)

anticipated that machines designed for man, and well adapted to
him physically, would occasion even more rapid deterioration and
an accelerated aging of their operators* Indeed, worker produc-
tivity markedly decreases after only four years, and, in general,
becomes marked at age twenty-two. The optimum age of an em-
ployee who operates business machines would seem to lie between
sixteen and twenty-two. Now, this last fact comes from the machine
in itself, from its tempo, and so on* The human problem has been
intensified, rather than resolved. It even seems insoluble. The con-
cern for the human being that is evident in these attempts must,
one supposes, be reckoned progress; the same holds for the tech-
nician's concern with the person of the worker, and the attempts to
furnish him with means for self-improvement by establishing li-
braries or by helping him resolve his personal problems.

But on further consideration, are not these efforts and this in-
terest part of an abstract ideal? What do they really signify? Leon
Walther, the great theoretician of the adaptation of machine to
man, states that this adaptation has as its end "the maximum
productivity with the minimum expenditure of human energy."
But such a goal represents a primacy of efficiency, with reference
both to man and machine. The greater concern is to make men
work effectively; and, marvelous dispensation, advantages for pro-
duction turn out to coincide with advantages for the individual.

One of the principal creators of libraries for workers has de-
scribed the concept of "practical utility* which ought to govern
such libraries. Books are to be selected on the basis of “their even-
tual moral yield," If a book enables the worker to escape the direct
control of the bosses, "it ought to be authorized only to the degree
that the subject treated allows the management to exercise control
indirectly.” With this proviso, a book can be an invaluable auxil-
iary, since it introduces personal interest, serves as a source of
initiative, and satisfies curiosity; but on the condition that the
worker is ignorant of what he ought to know and that management
has the "duty" to choose for him.

It might, incidentally, be asked: "Are these ideas capitalist or
Communist?" Anyone who could give an unambiguous answer to
this question would indeed be an expert, for the same conceptions
occur as frequently in one system as in the other. They do not
represent theories, but are the direct expression of the fact that

The Technological Society (353

work technique necessitates the complete integration of the worker.
It is inadmissible that the worker's reading matter should occasion
slowdowns, rebellion, or displacement of the center of interest
Such things are unthinkable, whatever the regime. Culture must
conform to technique and encouraige productivity. Censorship in
this area ought therefore not to be regarded as an evil, but as an
unavoidable condition of objective technique. The same holds for
the surprising creation of the post of “counselors," of which Fried-
mann has written. After it had been observed in certain industrial
plants that the conditions of modem labor provoke psychological
difficulties, psychologists were hired to act as “safety valves” for
employee grievances and dissatisfactions. Employees may express
their feelings to these “counselors" with the assurance that the
counselors will say nothing to management. But the counselors
never actually counsel anything. Their activities have nothing what-
ever to do with a positive cure of the soul, a mission which would
suppose at least the possibility of profound changes, new orienta-
tions, and an awakening consciousness on the worker's part, all of
which are highly dangerous. Nor are the counselors concerned with
investigations of concrete modifications that might be binding on
the company. Their sole duty is to encourage the voicing of com-
plaints and to listen to them. It is well-known that suffering ex-
pressed is suffering relieved. It has been observed that certain
psychological disturbances are provoked simply by being silent
and that rebellions are nourished in secret. To let people talk does
them good and quashes revolt It is dangerous to allow the workers
to talk over their problems among themselves. It is far more
prudent to give them a safety valve in the form of a discreet com-
pany agent, a psychological technician, than to let them air their
grievances in public. These “counselors" play the same role on the
industrial level as the Soviet magazine Krokodil does on the politi-
cal. It is difficult to find a human interest in any of this. The
concern here is primarily with technical development. The pallia-
tion of the human difficulties raised by technique is secondary.
Michel Crozier asserts that this is true also for the technique called
“human engineering."

This situation exists also in other disciplines (for example, in
sociology), which forces us to conclusions that seem in no sense
subjective. Social research establishes the primacy of the socio-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

354 )

logical over the human: it is not concerned only with mans indi-
vidual psychology and physiology, but also with his relation to the
body social. Here the important problem is to make him really
belong to the social group. The problem is the same for a socialized
as for a capitalist economy. A solution may perhaps be more
feasible for a capitalist society, but both are faced with the problem
of convincing man and gaining his allegiance. This gives rise to yet
another human technique, which I shall refer to later on. At this
point let us consider its aims.

In Aspects sociaux de la rationalisation, the 1931 report of the In-
ternational Labor Organization, we read that “it is necessary to
rationalize not only manufacturing, but also employer-employee
relations.” And in 1941 the ILO asserted that “only when industrial
technique succeeds in developing concern for the human being will
American capitalism win the confidence of its workers, customers,
and bond holders, of the public individually and collectively.'’ As
Friedmann puts it, the purpose of the scientific organization of
labor, before and after the advent of psychotechnique, industrial
relations, and technical humanism, was and is to “assure maximal
yield with minimal loss of effort or material. But these latter repre-
sent means which are becoming complicated and refined to the
point of transforming little by little the face of the scientific or-
ganization of labor.” The system of human relations which is being
re-created in the industrial framework is constructed, according to
its originators, on the basis of an industrial model. In this respect
the study of W. E. Moore is significant. According to Moore, human
relations must correspond to the functions of individuals engaged
in the production cycle. Moore assigns the following four char-
acteristics to human relations:

First, human relations must be restricted to the technical de-
mands of their vocational role. They must not become deep rela-
tions involving profound ideas, tendencies, and preoccupations.
Individuals who are part of the industrial tempo must remain hu-
man and sustain mutual human relationships, but only those that
relate to technical activity.

Second, human relations must be universal; they must be “based
on criteria which the members of an arbitrary grouping of the
population can satisfy, independently of prior social relations or
prior membership in other groups unconnected with the work in

The Technological Society ‘ (355

hand.” In other words, human relations must not have an extra-
technical basis. The individual's prior milieu is of little importance;
neither are his prior preferences or tendencies. Technique compen-
sates for everything else. It is therefore reasonable to speak of
technical “universalism.” Technique is the bond between men; it
is both objective and indeterminate; it makes up for individual
deficiencies, admitting no excuses or individual dissociation.

The third characteristic of human relations is rationality. Human
relations are indispensable to the proper functioning of the or-
ganism as a whole. The organism is strictly rational, and relations
integrated into it must be conceived on a rational basis. Emotion or
sentementality must not be allowed to disturb the mechanism.
When the problem of emotion is considered, as, for example, in
“molar microsociological analysis,” it is treated as a function of the
greater rationality of the group and of a more objective equilib-
rium.

In the fourth place, these relations must be impersonal, estab-
lished not on the basis of subjective choice and for personal rea-
sons but on the basis of their optimum validity. Of course, subjec-
tive choice and personal reasons must also be dealt with insofar
as they influence the technician, but they are stripped of spon-
taneous validity; they are only one element in the situation.

Scott and Lynfcon, in a rather more versatile study made in
1953, confirm Moore's analysis. According to them, in the technical
complex which our society has become, and which is destroying
every kind of community, it is necessary to compensate for man's
natural incapacity to sustain human relations in a technical uni-
verse. This must be done not only for man's sake but also because
human relations are technically indispensable to the progress of
great enterprises. It is necessary, therefore, to organize groups in
these enterprises, groups which are responsible but also sufficiently
directed to serve the common end, productivity. Then it is neces-
sary to reproduce natural conditions artificially, so that human re-
lations can be established. For example, the enterprise can be given
an administrative structure that reproduces a spontaneous organi-
zation.

The technique of so-called human relations, developed to adapt
the individual to the technical milieu, to force him to accept his
slavery, to make him find happiness by the “normalization” of his

35^ ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

relations with his group and integrate him into that group to an
ever greater degree — this technique is characteristic of the fakeries
and shams with which men must be provided if the conflicts pro-
voked by life in a technicized environment are to be avoided. As
a remedy it does not amount to much, but as a symptom of techni-
cal reinforcement, it is important We can say that these personal
relations are also techniques, that they are not a counterweight to
other techniques, but that they bring about the application of tech-
nique in the most personal and immediate area of human activi-
ties: man's relations with other men. They alleviate the rigors of
the human condition — but only by forcing man to submit to them
more completely. They facilitate both human life and the action of
the machinery, improve production while subordinating human
spontaneity to the mathematical calculations of the technicians. In
short, they are a kind of lubricating oil, but scarcely a means by
which men can recover a sense of worth, personality, and authen-
ticity. On the contrary, they are a delusion which desiccate the
individual's desire for anything better. Man is doubtless made more
comfortable by techniques of human relations; but these techniques
are wholly oriented toward compelling man to submit to forced
labor. Machine and productivity are in the driver's seat.

All I have said concerning the technique of human relations is as
true of a socialist as of a capitalist society. “Socialist rivalry” is only
a psychological tool to force men to work harder. The effort to
integrate man into large-scale enterprises is not rp^rioted to capi
talism; it stems from technical investigations which are universally
valid. The most that can be said is that under capitalism psycho-
logical techniques are concentrated on the problem of integrating
the individual into private enterprise- Under socialism they are
more generalized.

None of this arises from human malevolence, or from some “sys-
tem,” but from the simple fact that other techniques are sought to
answer the problems of industrial mechanization. There is no op-
position between mechanical techniques, on the one hand, and or-
ganizational and psychological techniques, on the other, so that
the latter balance the former. Such a relationship is valid, but only
within the larger technical phenomenon, within the universal
scheme whereby men are determined as objects by the whole tech-

The Technological Society ( 357

nical complex with a view to efficiency. Hence, as I have observed
in so many other connections, the instrumentalities which permit
man to survive, and even be happy, subject him as much and even
more than the other techniques to the technical ideal, which is in-
dependent of all real humanism. The correlated growth of machine
and organization prove this point. The organization of work, psy-
chological research, the apparent adaptation of the machine to the
human being — these in fact permit the aggrandizement of the me-
chanical. The greater the aggrandizement, the more society re-
quires that countermeasures be taken; but since the countermeas-
ures are themselves of a technical nature, they allow the sphere of
the mechanical to develop even further in a vicious circle. To be-
lieve that humanist remedies will indeed palliate the drawbacks
of the machine is to think of the machine as a static fact. It is noth-
ing of the kind. The progress of the machine depends on the pro-
posed humanist remedies, and they in turn are rendered obsolete
by each new mechanical development.

I should like to point out one last fact; it touches upon a tender
point, and such a brief treatment may shock some people. Labor
and trade unions made their appearance as the great human pro-
test against the inhuman character of capitalism and its exploita-
tion of the workers. However, in all countries labor unionism has
completely lost its original character and become a purely techni-
cal organization. This seems to be undeniable, whether we study
unionism in its Soviet form as a state organism or in its American
form as an adjunct to production. In both cases trade unionism no
longer represents a fighting force, but rather a technical adminis-
tration. At the moment unionism is still a fighting force in France
and Italy, but in such an impersonal and organized form that the
outcome is clear.

Once again, the result appears to be technical. The worker is be-
coming more and more "organizable He is trapped in labor or-
ganizations which are becoming increasingly compulsory and in-
creasingly efficient. He gets habituated to them and even feels a
need for them. Moreover, the modem separation between person-
ality and work favors surrender to organization. The worker easily
yields to the conviction that by contributing to his own organiza-
tion he will be able to modify the broad outlines of the system and

3 5 8 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

alleviate his own discomforts. He does not realize that the organi-
zation he is enrolled in is itself part of the complex of technical
organisms of depersonalization. What we have here is a hoax , in
the Marxist sense of the term. The actual function of unionism is
to support technical progress. It seeks a profound transformation of
the condition of the workers through objective industrial organiza-
tion, independent of the idea of capitalist profit. It finds unorgan-
ized labor insupportable; this is also its attitude toward the inde-
pendent workers who have not felt the burden of the machine on
their life and work. Unionism has no concept of the worker except
in the double framework of factory and union, both in a technical
sense.

When workers are organized, they are complying with the law
of technical progress which requires all forms of human life to
become organized. This explains the facility with which the un-
ions, once they have been tightly constructed, pass into the condi-
tion of total social organization. They continue to constitute an
opposing force to certain men and economic tendencies, but they
no longer represent a revolutionary force with respect to basic
structures. On the contrary, they have become a part of these
structures. The worker thinks that he is organizing freely and ex-
pressing his personality; but in so doing, he is merely yielding to
the technical imperatives to which he is subject through the me-
chanical element in his work.

I have no thought of denying the educational value of the un-
ions or the contributions they have made to the improvement of
the workers’ lot. I have been concerned merely to reflect ( on a very
different plane) to what a degree trade unionism has developed
concurrently with technical progress and how it stands in im-
mediate relation to technical imperatives. The worker through his
unions is intensifying his own thralldom to techniques, augmenting
their powers of organization, and completing his own integration
into that very movement from which, it may be, unionism had
originally hoped to free him.

Vocational Guidance . Research on human beings at work has led to
the differentiation of a number of categories of individuals accord-
ing to their greater or lesser aptitudes for adaptation, for example,
to rationalized industrial labor. Some workers adapt themselves
without difficulty to assembly-line production, whereas others be-

The T echnological Society (359

come neurotic. This poses the problem of distinguishing various
human categories of adaptability.

A new technique, vocational guidance, is the answer here. It
claims to be able to reveal every person's vocational aptitude and to
guide him into the most suitable vocation, the vocation he will be
naturally adapted to, the vocation in which he will do the best
job with the most enjoyment

Unfortunately, the first-rate work of Pierre Naville concerning
this technique has demonstrated that its claims are not in complete
correspondence with technical reality. I do not wish to consider
the first part of his argument, which is exclusively Marxist. There
are no natural aptitudes, he states; therefore vocational guidance
could not possibly discover them. This point is of course, debat-
able for non-Marxists. The remainder of his argument is inde-
pendent of the first part and self-sufficient.

Before turning to Naville's work, I would like to add that there is
no question here of denying the value of testing. Tests as a whole
yield trustworthy and worthwhile information. Except for certain
reservations about detail, we can consider this technique efficient.
But in order to estimate its value correctly, we must “situate** it.
Techniques in the modem world cannot be separated from one
another; and as a consequence the technique of vocational guid-
ance must be integrated into the complex of all the other tech-
niques, for example, into the system of political and economic
techniques.

Naville shows with precision that what we call vocational guid-
ance answers the requirements of capitalist economic techniques.
As though by accident, the technique “discovers” in the individ-
uals examined precisely the aptitudes which are essential to the
needs of the capitalist economy. Thus, in France during the period
of unemployment from 1932 to 1937, vocational guidance system-
atically diverted young people from such overcrowed trades as
mechanics, textile work, and so on. The period from 1937 to 1939
witnessed the development of metallurgy, and vocational guid-
ance “discovered” the vocation of metallurgist. In 1940 it was turn-
ing up a great number of agricultural vocations.

This should not be taken to mean that vocational guidance is
the tool of capitalist or governmental whim. Nor does it mean that
vocational guidance is an imprecise technique. It means simply

3^0 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

that there is a great flexibility in human potentialities and that
vocational guidance modified these potentialities in accordance
with the suggestions of other techniques.

Consider what would happen if vocational guidance proceeded
to isolate itself from other techniques; for example, if it considered
first and exclusively the aptitude of the individual. The result
would be Otto Neurath's nonsensical system, which would never-
theless be the only logical system if one were to insist that the
exclusive preoccupation of vocational guidance is to find the best
job for the individual in terms of his aptitudes. Neurath envisages
a kind of plan of three to five years* duration, based on the in-
dividual’s aptitudes as discerned by vocational guidance. The econ-
omy would be founded on these aptitudes. If vocational guidance
discovered no mechanics, machine shops would be suppressed. If,
presumably, it discovered no teachers, the schools would have to
be closed. If, on the other hand, vocational guidance were to un-
cover a supply of mechanics after a number of years, the dis-
mantled machine shops would be reopened. It need scarcely be
said that chaos would reign in the field of economics. But such a
system would be the only logical one if we really were concerned
exclusively with the primacy of the individual. If we really wished
to take into consideration only the individual’s aptitudes, we would
have to tailor the economic system to them. The obvious impos-
sibility of such a system demonstrates that it is senseless to apply
the rule of the primacy of the individual and that vocational guid-
ance cannot be isolated from the other techniques.

Naville, on the other hand, wishes to integrate vocational guid-
ance as far as possible into the technical complex; he maintains
that this can be realized only under socialism. He takes as his
example the Soviet Union, where vocational guidance tries to dis-
cover not so much intrinsic aptitudes as potentialities for adapta-
tion, that is, adaptability. Basically, the Soviets believe it nec-
essary to discover not the individual’s predestination but his
adaptability. Vocational guidance then has the task of adapting
the individual, through education, to planned manpower require-
ments. Vocational guidance is thus subordinated to planning tech-
nique. For example, a five-year plan may require a certain number
of miners for that period. Vocational guidance then has the task^
of seeking out from among the twelve- and thirteen-year-olds the

The Technological Society ( 3 6 1

ones adaptable to this function. It institutes forthwith a twofold
operation of general education focused on the particular trade
and on the psychic, mechanical, and physiological adaptability of
the candidates. The plan thus obtains the necessary manpower;
the individual candidates are effectively adapted to the required
labor, since they have been recruited at an early enough age and
educated from the beginning in a precise direction. The em-
phasis again is on insuring the happiness of the individual through
adaptation. The assumption is that the individual will be happy
when he is synchronized with his trade.

Soviet orientation toward vocational guidance is identical with
certain recent tendencies which have appeared in America. In a
report to UNESCO on technical education and vocational guid-
ance, Margaret Mead wrote: “Since education must respond, not
to the present but to the future needs of society, it is necessary to
forecast constantly and as far as possible in advance the evolution
of vocational structures." This can only mean that the individual
must be educated and adapted in advance to his future job as a
function of anticipated technical progress. In Mayo's analyses and
in Lynton’s report to UNESCO, one finds similarly precise expres-
sions of the conditions of community survival in the technical
world. The issue in all these cases is the rigorous adaptation of the
individual to the world of technique, even going as far as the "re-
production of certain modes of action and forms of spontaneous
organization." More precise expression of technical intrusion into
life could scarcely be imagined.

It must not be thought that Naville's version of vocational guid-
ance restricts human potentialities. On the contrary, it is meant to
enlarge the child's possibilities of adaptation. By means of this
technique, according to Naville, "certain newly acquired habits
will appear, thanks to which the individual will be able to partici-
pate in the whole continuum of social effort . . . His needs will
be guided into a system of new habits which the economic milieu
bequeathes to him . . . Adaptation will no longer be something
natural, but will be acquired at the cost of efforts which will be
of short or long duration depending on the complexity of the
task."

In this connection, we are assured that "vocational guidance
will permit the basic satisfaction of any rational need." I am con-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

362)

vinced that this statement is exact. The individual so educated
will be satisfied. But it is the flimsiest make-believe to pretend that
vocational guidance is in the service of human beings. An arsenal
of preconceptions and undemonstrable formulas would be needed
to sustain such a thesis. These presuppositions are as follows:
(1) The moment the individual finds himself in a socialist system,
his complexes disappear. (2) The moment an institution is inte-
grated into a socialist system, it changes character. (3) The mo-
ment the individual’s needs are satisfied, he becomes happy. (4)
The moment social harmony is established, every man integrated
into that harmonious system realizes his human vocation. ( 5 ) The
moment the individual escapes from capitalism, he is free. Such
nonsense is only a way of refusing to consider facts or to look reality
in the face. The facts are clear enough. In isolation from certain
other techniques, vocational guidance is useless. Put back into its
true context, it becomes simply a means for subordinating man to
the requirements of economic technique. Even when the task of
discovering aptitudes is attributed to vocational guidance, as, for
example, in Antoine Mass “personnel mechanograph ,” there is
nevertheless a substantial consideration of “ad-aptitude,” to use
Naville’s word, and selection is made in terms of it.

Once again we are confronted with a mechanism of adaptation
which deprives man of freedom and responsibility, makes him
into a “thing,” and puts him where he is most desirable from the
point of view of another technique, that is where is most
efficient.

We can also state that a kind of encounter is taking place be-
tween vocational guidance and the “new school.” Vocational guid-
ance is not obligatory in France, It might even he said that it does
not yet exist as a technique. It is still an advisory organ, nothing
more. The trend, however, is unmistakable. The number of children
counseled went from 60,000 in 1944 to 250,000 in 1950, and, it is
estimated, an average of 75 per cent of the parents followed the
advice of the vocational counselor. (The actual figure grew slowly
from 73 per cent in 1944 to 78 per cent in 1950.) As to the long-
term effects of guidance upon those guided, it need only be re-
marked that either the counselor was right or the counseled child,
once embarked on a trade, is faced with an accomplished fact.
Practically speaking, there is no retreat, and in fact, a retreat is

The Technological Society (363

seldom desired. The statement that vocational guidance, consider-
ing its rate of growth, is not obligatory in reality signifies very
little.

An analysis of the method itself should be made. Although the
tests employed at the moment are not very dangerous, the aim of
vocational guidance is to card-index the individual totally (natu-
rally, for his own good ), and it is unlikely that its practitioners will
remain very long content with the common psychotechnical tests.
They will want to go much further, to make systematic investiga-
tions of emotional tendencies and to explore the child’s instinctive
nature, to inquire into the basic elements in the child’s psychic
and moral make-up. Tests like the so-called TAT ('Thematic Ap-
perception Test”) already aim in this direction. Another and balder
way of putting it is that vocational guidance represents a totali-
tarian takeover of the young.

But since such a takeover lies in the logic of the system, I hardly
think it can be prevented. I shall content myself with referring the
interested reader to the excellent critique of the system contained
in William Hollingsworth Whyte’s The Organization Man,
Propaganda . Here we are faced with a new system of human tech-
niques, more complex than the others we have studied, since it
involves techniques of different natures, partly hierarchical and
partly synthetic. We do not even have a term to describe this
system. Propaganda is too limited, but it comes closest to the fact.®
The term supposes state action and also mass action on public
opinion. However, the broader phenomenon we are considering
here includes private action and individualized action as well.

The prime consideration is the union of two very different cate-
gories of technique which yield this new system of human tech-
nique. The first is a complex of mechanical techniques (principally
radio, press, and motion pictures ) which permit direct communi-
cation with a very large number of persons collectively, while
simultaneously addressing each individual in the group. These
techniques possess an extraordinary power of persuasion and a
remarkable capacity to bring psychic and intellectual pressure
to bear. The second category consists of a complex of psychological
(and even psychoanalytical) techniques which give access to exact

6 Here I am giving the briefest summary. The interested reader may refer to my
book, Propagandes { 196s), which will shortly appear in English.

3^4 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

knowledge of the human psyche. It can thus be motivated with
considerable confidence in the results,

A number of techniques have here been brought to a common
focus so as to produce a nearly certain result. It is known in ad-
vance that the projected image will almost infallibly produce the
desired reflex. The technical phenomenon under consideration
unites the two categories into an inseparable whole. The question
arises how and why this has come about and whether man has
willed it.

If the press had been devoted exclusively to serial stories, and the
radio to music, it might not have been necessary to bring in psy-
choanalytic methods. But even this is not certain. What could be
more innocent in appearance than comic strips? The deep in-
fluence of these "comics” on the reader is demonstrable, as is their
usefulness from the sociological point of view. And what could
seem more harmless than an American musical comedy film? Yet
we are all aware of their economic importance.

Even if the radio or the press had been exclusively devoted to
amusement, however, there would be this problem: on what basis
could or should these techniques be restricted? The moment they
could be applied to other spheres (politics, for example), they
were applied, and applied guilelessly, without anyone having, at
least in the beginning, any clear idea of their utility. As soon as
they entered the realm of politics, it became evident that they had
to serve not only to educate but also to convince. There is no such
thing as purely objective information. To object that it was man's
fault that technique did not remain objective is tantamount to
stating that it was mans fault to be human. From the moment
these techniques were put to use, they had to operate as efficiently
as possible, which meant that other techniques for understanding
man had to be drawn into the system.

The totalitarian state is very often accused of having originated
the conjunction of techniques. This is Monnerot s opinion. The fact
is that private capitalism did indeed initiate this conjunction; con-
ditions under capitalism were more propitious than elsewhere. Ad-
vertising, well before propaganda proper, introduced the concep-
tion of efficiency in this field. The problem was to convince a large
number of persons, all typed as '‘average,” to perform some simple
action, for example, to buy a given object. It was necessary to be

The Technological Society (365

convincing with limited arguments and few words, which might
well be lost among hundreds of others. Conditions in advertising
were much more favorable to the conjunction of mechanical and
psychological means than, say, political conditions at the beginning
of the twentieth century. At that time attempts at political per-
suasion were addressed only to the elite. There was a multiplicity
of political and doctrinaire arguments, but only a few propagan-
dists means. Propagandists inertia in politics was the result. Po-
litical persuasion had as its aim purely intellectual conviction,
whereas in advertising the end was to produce reflex action.

Large commercial enterprises were the first to supplement me-
chanical techniques with the very efficient means available through
psychological technique. By 1910 this conjunction was an accom-
plished fact. A kind of maladroit political propaganda first came
into use during the First World War. It was often completely inept
because it disregarded psychological laws and was, in effect, pure
hokum. But it became scientific with the Russian Revolution and
then with Hitlerism. Today all states without exception exploit the
system of political propaganda created by the union of the two
technical complexes.

What then are the principal directions taken by propaganda tech-
niques? The system of conditioned reflexes has been exploited on
a large scale. The technique of measuring and producing such
reflexes has been greatly developed. The reduction of political
doctrines to programs, of programs to slogans, of slogans to pic-
tures ( the direct reflex-stimulating images ) has been studied. Sys-
tematic efforts are available to create conditioned reflexes, either
through education (as, for example, under Nazism or under Com-
munism) or on the basis of already existing, spontaneous reflexes
(for example, the American use of erotic reflexes in war propa-
ganda).

The propaganda mechanisms of the totalitarian states have been
studied in detail by Tchakotin, Propaganda techniques in the
United States have been stressed much less. But that does not
mean that instances of propaganda on a grand scale are lacking
there. It became necessary, for example, to force the American
people to participate in the war and to impress a war psychology
upon them by creating certain reflexes. The Americans, protected
by their two oceans, did not “feeF they were at war. War for them

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

366)

was not a living reality and had to be made so. Understandably,
the feeling of war and civilian involvement in it could be produced
only by the enormous pressure of advertising and total propaganda
on the human psyche. It was necessary to use the so-called obses-
sional technique, to subject the citizen to propaganda without
letup, never allowing him to be alone with Jrimself. In the street
he is confronted with posters, loud-speakers, ceremonies, and meet-
ings; at work, with handbills and “industrial mobilization''; in his
amusements, with motion -picture and theatrical propaganda; at
home, with newspaper and radio propaganda. All these means
converge on the same point. All exert the same kind of action on
the individual and are of such overpowering magnitude that he
ceases to be consciously aware of them.

This last is the greatest importance. Propaganda must become as
natural as air or food. It must proceed by psychological inhibi-
tion and the least possible shock. The individual is then able to
declare in all honesty that no such thing as propaganda exists.
In fact, however, he has been so absorbed by it that he is literally
no longer able to see the truth. The natures of man and propa-
ganda have become so inextricably mixed that everything depends
not on choice or on free will, but on reflex and myth. The pro-
longed and hypnotic repetition of the same complex of ideas, the
same images, and the same rumors conditions man for the as-
similation of his nature to propaganda.

In addition, human emotions such as hate and resentment are
exploited. The procedure is not so much obsessional as suggestive,
and depends on the collective fixation of these emotions on a given
adversary. Here we witness the crowning absurdity, a completely
automatic development of emotions. To exploit resentments,, it is
sufficient merely to send the individual on his way, equipped with
a very simple set of “directions for use." Later on, one observes a
reconstitution of the individual personality around the selected
“fixed point” on the basis of the strength of his resentments. Sup-
pose, for example, that the adversary has been designated as the
author of all the individual's misfortunes and sufferings. .(The
bourgeoisie plays this role for the Communists, as the Jews played
it for the Nazis. ) After such suggestions have been launched, there
is a surge of human resentment among the people. Like a flock of
sheep, they stampede much further than they had actually been

The Technological Society (367

commanded to go, in obedience to another instinct which comes
into play and which causes them to hurl themselves on the object of
their resentment like a dog on a cat. Incidentally, this explains
why there is no "‘criminal” in these cases. Pogroms are seldom
ordered by the authorities. One need only manipulate popular
resentments to bring them about.

The will to self- justification, which is latent in every individual,
can also be exploited. It involves the need for a scapegoat; but
individuals have difficulty finding a personal scapegoat. Propa-
ganda offers them a collective goat to which they are able to trans-
fer evil and sin, thereby feeling justified, authenticated, and puri-
fied. In all countries where this form of propaganda is effective,
crime diminishes (not the least of the boasts of totalitarian regimes,
Communist and Fascist alike). Morality makes headway. We no
longer have to create for ourselves enemies to slay. We have ene-
mies, ready-made for us by propaganda, whom it is lawful to kill.
It is as plain as a pikestaff that to kill a bourgeois is not a crime.
Moreover, the introduction of scapegoats means that conflict is no
longer on a social or political plane but on a moral plane of good
and evil. In exploiting the device of the scapegoat, propaganda
leads people to transfer evil to the adversary. The adversary here
becomes the generalized incarnation of evil, whereas in the ex-
ploitation of resentment the adversary appears as the cause of
misfortune. This incarnation indicates that there is no rational basis
for hate; it results solely from subconscious mechanisms. This ex-
plains a surprising statement made by Hitler in Mein Kampf: “It
is necessary to suggest to the people that the most varied enemies
all belong to the same category; and to lump all adversaries to-
gether so that it will appear to the mass of our own partisans that
the struggle is being waged against a single enemy. This fortifies
their faith in their rights and increases their exasperation against
those who would assail them.” Hitler s statement would have been
completely irrational if it had been made about person-to-person
combat, about personal reasons for conflict. But from the moment
propaganda begins to operate, there is a loss of the sense of reality,
a confusion of motives, an identification of opposites, and an inter-
play of accusations — all of which greatly enhance the operation
of subconscious influences. Everything more or less confusedly
resented as being evil is transferred to the official enemy. Through

3 ^ 8 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

the influence of propaganda, a subconscious transference takes
place. But instead of the psychoanalyst who causes the transference
of guilt feelings to himself, there is a propaganda machine which
causes us to make the transference to the generalized enemy.
Technique thus creates a separation between all ‘absolutely good”
persons, who are collectively justified and who represent political,
social, and historic virtue, and all "absolutely evil” persons,' in
whom no worth or virtue is to be found. The phenomenon made a
feeble appearance, on the national plane, in the 1914 "War of Law
and Civilization,” but it was too weak to bring about complete
collective transference. Today we are more successful, but the line
of demarcation between good and evil is less national than social
and political.

Propaganda also manipulates, on a lesser scale, the so-called
Oedipus complex and our emotions concerning the "father.” These
techniques are still halting, but it is quite probable that they will
become efficient in the near future.

Propagandistic manipulations take place under all forms of gov-
ernment and in all walks of life. It may be said that we live in a
universe which is psychologically subversive. Even so, modern
man has no clear conception of the extent of the phenomenon.
Experience cannot reveal it to him; he would have to be outside
looking in. We in France are fortunate in living in a country
where propaganda is still remarkably inefficient. In addition, we
are acquainted with the technique of "social psychoanalysis ” as
imported by the pre-1938 Berlin Institute of Applied Psychology
and by numerous American institutes and research committees/
It is scarcely necessary to add that all propaganda technicians in
search of the "one best way” loudly proclaim the value of ex-
ploiting the great subconscious motifs I have described.

It is only fair to wonder what consequences these propagandistic
manipulations will have. The real consequences are not discernible
because the mechanisms have been operating for too short a time.
And, of course, when the consequences finally appear, we still
will not recognize them. We will have been so absorbed and ma-
nipulated, rendered so indifferent that objective knowledge on

r For example, The Committee of Human Development, Chicago; The Institute for
Public Opinion Research, Princeton; The Heller Committee, California; and so on.

The Technological Society ( 36$

this score will be impossible. We will no longer even have any idea
of what men might once have been.

Some effects of propaganda, however, are already clear.

1 ) The critical faculty has been suppressed by the creation of
collective passions. The well-known phenomenon of ^reciprocal
suggestion* has made collective passion a very different force from
individual passion. We know that individual passion is itself in-
imical to the critical faculty, but the critical faculty can still be
exercised if some equilibrium can be established between criti-
cism and passion. In the collective passion created by technique
(of which technique itself is sometimes the object), the critical
faculty, which is peculiar to the intellectual organization of the
individual, is excluded. As Monnerot says flatly: “There is no such
thing as a collective critical faculty.* Because technique acts upon
men collectively, the passions it provokes — which exist in every-
body — are amplified. The suppression of the critical faculty —
man’s growing incapacity to distinguish truth from falsehood, the
individual from the collectivity, action from talk, reality from
statistics, and so on — is one of the most evident results of the
technical power of propaganda. Human intelligence cannot resist
propaganda’s manipulation of its subconscious.

2) A good social conscience appears with the suppression of the
critical faculty. Technique provides justification to everybody
and gives all men the conviction that their actions are just, good,
and in the spirit of truth. This conviction is the stronger because it
is collectively shared. The individual finds the same conviction in
his fellow workers and neighbors and feels himself strengthened in
it through the implicit communion of media such as the radio. In
countries where propaganda technique is exploited, there is a de-
crease in neurosis as well as in crime. We can believe the wartime
statistics of the Nazis and the Americans because they fit so well
with everything else we know. Conversely, whenever for some
reason propaganda technique fails to instill a good collective social
conscience, there is a sudden and brutal collapse of the sense of
individual justification, and individual morale falls drastically.
This, among other things, would explain the extraordinary in-
crease in neuroses in the United States after 1945. A similar situa-
tion among the Germans may have other explanations, but I am
convinced that the sudden halting in the Nazi propaganda ma-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

270 )

chine played a significant role in German postwar neurosis. The
problem in the United States has been so serious that it has led to
the dramatic development of psychoanalytic therapy in the past
few years. This development in reality represents a resumption, on
an individual level, of the activity which collective technique had
abandoned. When a good collective social conscience has been
created, the individual becomes addicted to it, as to a drug. And
when the Americans realize that individual psychoanalysis is more
costly, less efficient (because it cannot integrate the individual),
and more difficult, they will return to a collective psychotherapeu-
tic technique.

3) Propaganda technique, moreover, creates a new sphere of
the “sacred.” As Monnerot puts it: “When an entire category of
events, beings, and ideas is outside criticism, it constitutes a sacred
realm, in contrast to the realm of the profane.” As a result of the
profound influence of the mechanisms of propaganda, a new zone
of the forbidden is created in the heart of man, but it is artificially
induced, in contrast to the taboos of primitive societies. When
there is propaganda, we are no longer able to evaluate certain
questions, or even to discuss them. A series of protective reflexes
organized by technique immediately intervene.

To summarize: the suppression of the critical faculty, the forma-
tion of a good social conscience, and the creation of a sphere of
tlie sacred are all aspects of a single manifestation, the first and
clearest consequence of the application of psychoanalytic mass
techniques. Incidentally, our analysis confirms a social phenome-
non frequently analyzed by modern sociologists: the “creation of
the masses.” These three elements add a new dimension to the
masses; the masses thereby gain an internal cohesion they did not
possess naturally. A unitying psychism has come into being.

A second consequence of the application of propaganda tech-
niques is the creation of a kind of manipulability of the masses.
Here again Monnerot gives a definition worth repeating. Accord-
ing to Monnerot, propaganda technique “has for its object the
production and cultivation among the masses of certain predisposi-
tions and a special facility for doing at a given moment whatever
is strategically opportune. As political circumstances change, it is
necessary at intervals to cultivate successive predispositions.” This

The Technological Society ( 37 1

is a remarkable notion; the use of certain propaganda techniques
is not meant to entail immediate and definitive adhesion to a given
formula, but rather to bring about a kind of long-range vacuity of
the individual. The individual, his soul massaged, emptied of his
natural tendencies, and thoroughly assimilated to the group, is
ready for anything. Propaganda's chief requirement is not so much
to be rational, well grounded, and powerful as it is to produce
individuals especially open to suggestion who can be easily set into
motion.

Two categories of propaganda must be distinguished. The first
strives to create a permanent disposition in its objects and con-
stantly needs to be reinforced. Its goal is to make the masses
“available,” by working spells upon them and exercising a kind of
fascination. The second category involves the creation of a sort of
temporary impulsiveness in its objects. It operates by simple pres-
sure and is often contradictory (since contradictory mass move-
ments are sometimes necessary). Of course, this dissociation can
be effective only after the propaganda technique has been com-
pletely fused with the popular mores and has become indispen-
sable to the population. This stage may be reached quickly, as, for
example, in Germany in 1942, after only ten years of psychic ma-
nipulation. The same result seems to have been obtained in the
Soviet Union, where the masses have been conditioned to the fluc-
tuations of the party line.

A third consequence of technical propaganda manipulations is
the creation of an abstract universe, representing a complete re-
construction of reality in the minds of its citizens. The new uni-
verse is a verbal universe, to use the excellent phrase of Armand
Robin, our keenest student of radio propaganda. Men fashion
images of things, events, and people which may not reflect reality
but which are truer than reality. These images are based on news
items which, as is the case in much of the world, are “faked.”
Their purpose is to form rather than to inform. Faking the news
is systematically practiced by the Soviet radio, but the procedure is
found to a lesser degree in all countries. All of us are familiar with
the “innocent” fraud of the illustrated newspapers in which a photo-
graph is accompanied by an ambiguous caption. A shipyard, for
example, is indifferently described as a plant in one of the de-
mocracies, or in the Soviet Union, or wherever. This kind of thing

37* ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

represents the first step toward a sham universe. It is also indica-
tive of an important element in today’s psychology, the disappear-
ance of reality in a world of hallucinations. Man will be led to act
from real motives that are scientifically directed and increasingly
irresistible; he will be brought to sacrifice himself in a real world,
but for the sake of the verbal universe which has been fashioned
for him. We must try to grasp the profundity of this upheaval. The
human being has enormous means at his disposal, and he acts upon
and in the real world. But he acts in a dream: he seeks other ends
(those the incantational magic of propaganda proposes for him)
than those he will really attain. The ends he is expected to reach
are known only to the manipulators of the mass subconscious, and
to them alone.

At this point, the reader will protest that our analysis may apply to
others, but not to him. But if he listens regularly to the radio, reads
the newspapers, and goes to the movies, the description does fit him.
He will not be aware of it because the essence of propaganda is to
act upon the human subconscious but to leave men the illusion of
complete freedom. The objection will be raised, in another vein,
that some countries do not exploit these propagandistic manipula-
tory devices; for example, the democracies in general and the
United States in particular. 8 But here certain distinctions must be
made. Some democracies do not exploit the propaganda arsenal
simply because they cannot afford to do so. Others, like the United
States, exploit it only to a limited degree, during certain restricted
periods (for example, during wars, hot and cold) and only in cer-
tain areas. However, such restraint cannot be imputed to demo-
cratic scruples; these democracies simply do not yet feel the compel-
ling necessity to exploit propagandistic technique. As the present
global struggle intensifies and world domination by one nation or
another becomes inevitable, the utilization of propaganda by the
democracies will also become inevitable. The high priests of effi-
ciency will not recoil before the use of an instrument as efficient as
propaganda, the more so because it fits the tenor of their culture
and no longer shocks anyone’s “humanitarian” sentiments. When
once the masses have become inured to the practices of propa-
ganda techniques, it is impossible to turn back.

„* Ellul: Propagandes ( 196a).

The Technological Society (373

Propaganda activity entails two further consequences of a socio-
logical nature. Because these are obvious, they may be briefly
summarized. First, as we have already seen in our treatment of the
techniques of work, there is the psychological factor, which mani-
fests itself in the arrested spiritual development of the worker.
Friedmann believes that the worker would not experience this
arrest in a congenial environment, that is, in a favorable economic
system. He has in mind a socialist regime, which he contends
would be the most .propitious working environment. In such an
environment the worker, working without constraints, could ma-
ture. But it is clear that socialist manipulation of unconscious tend-
encies by means of propaganda produces the same results as a real
modification of conditions. For example, in the social movement
in the Soviet Union, which concentrates on productivity, it is not
economic facts that carry the workers along, but socialist propa-
ganda, the creation of a purely verbal universe. Workers react in
exactly the same way under capitalism if they are sufficiently over-
whelmed by propaganda. This is what happened in the United
States on a temporary basis during the war years. And there is a
permanent factor operating in the United States to facilitate the
application of propaganda technique: the rapidly developing and
remarkable mechanism of public relations. This technique is a sys-
tem of propaganda applied to all economic and human relations.

A second consequence, in the political sphere, is the devaluation
•f democracy. I revert here to an idea which we have already con-
sidered but which is difficult to drive home. All of us, more or less,
take propaganda to be the defense of an idea or system. We hear
constantly that it cannot therefore be of any harm to the democra-
cies. After all, there are a plurality of political parties employing
propaganda to maintain opposing or even contradictory ideas; the
citizen has a free choice among them. Such a misapprehension
comes from a frighteningly elementary conception of propaganda.
I have made it quite clear that propaganda is not the defense of an
idea but the manipulation of the mob's subconscious. The hope
reposed in the contradictions of propaganda comes to this: the citi-
zen receives a blow in the face from his neighbor on the right,
which, fortunately, is compensated for by another blow from his
neighbor on the left. If propaganda involved calm exposition of
political theories among which the citizen might choose intelli-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

374)

gently, contradictions would be beneficial and would leave the
citizen a free man. But this is an impossibility, from the moment
the propagandist possesses material means for exerting action on
the mob and knowledge of the secret recesses of the human psy-
che. The man who upholds a political theory presumably believes
in it. I take the case of a politician who acts from conviction and
not from personal interest. He will indeed strive to present his
convictions in the best possible light and to secure the adherence
of the greatest number of his fellow citizens. To do this he will of
course make use of the most efficient means. So, like any totalitar-
ian, he will proceed to rape the mob propagandistically. And rape
remains rape though it be effected by ten political parties ten times
in a row. Altering the outward form does not alter the substance.
Think of the parades, for instance, of Nazi Germany, the somber
and fanatical rites of “blood and soil/* In the United States, the
equivalent for the most part revolves about rites involving scantily
clad girls. It is all a matter of temperament; the psychic aim is the
same. And it is ruinous to democracy.

In the operation of political parties, the exploitation of technical
means on a large scale presupposes great financial resources. This
tends to eliminate all minor parties completely or to reduce them
to the shadowy role of hangers-on. The more intense the political
propaganda struggle (and the more costly its execution), the
greater the tendency to reduce the operation of democracy to the
opposition between two blocs. A citizen may have an original
valid, and true political idea, one which might even have had
every chance of success with his fellow citizens. But if he does
not possess the millions necessary to elaborate it the length and
breadth of the country, it counts for nothing. The American democ-
racy is no longer in its youth, when propaganda consisted of one
man speaking directly to other men.

In the devaluation of democracy, the influences of the propa-
ganda technique work on men as well as parties. The individual,
forced to submit to contradictory streams of propaganda, not only
is incapable of preserving freedom of choice, of choosing between
different doctrines, but is eliminated from the political operation
completely. He literally no longer exists — and this comes about in
proportion to the contradictoriness of the propaganda. He is inte-
grated into a sociological group and votes as the group votes.

The Technological Society ( 37 S

We come here to an important conclusion: to the degree that
propaganda is a technique, it has its own personal identity and
specificity. But it acts toward an unalterably fixed end. It is mere
vanity to wish to distinguish a technique as good or bad according
to its end. Whether technique acts to the advantage of a dictator or
of a democracy, it makes use of the same weapons, acts on the in-
dividual and manipulates his subconscious in identical ways, and
in the end leads to the formation of exactly the same type of hu-
man being. Whether 99 per cent of the citizens cast their ballot for
a dictator or for the various parties in a democracy, whether or not
the political structures of the different regimes formally differ, the
well-kneaded citizen, upon whom both regimes ultimately depend,
becomes through the operation of technique progressively indis-
tinguishable in either. The problem is not merely political; we have
come upon it in every area of life. But we must distinguish be-
tween two planes here: formal opinion and personal decision.
Through propaganda, we can train a man not to kill or not to
drink alcohol; or we can train him to kill or to smoke opium. The
objective result is different in either case. Sociologically, there is
admittedly a world of difference between dictatorship and democ-
racy. But in both the moral problem is suppressed; the individual
is simply an animal broken in to obey certain conditioned reflexes.
Indeed, there may be a difference between dictatorship and de-
mocracy on the plane of public health or statistics; but on the moral
plane there is a fundamental identity when democracy achieves
its ends through propaganda. The human effects of technique are
independent of the ideological end to which they are applied.
Amusement* The techniques of amusement and diversion are dif-
ferent from the other human techniques we have considered. Ma-
terially, these techniques are identical with those of propaganda:
films, radio, newspapers, and, to a lesser degree, books and phono-
graph records. But the hierarchy of these means is not the same. For
example, the cinema has first place and plays a more important
role than the radio. By comparison, in the propaganda hierarchy
radio is the instrument of choice.

Here too we find the exploitation of techniques of the subcon-
scious, but they are exerted with much less pressure. Moreover,
the range and sphere of these subconscious techniques is different
Amusement seeks to distract, propaganda to lead. The principal

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

376)

difference, however, relates to spontaneity. Propaganda technique
Is calculated and deliberate, whereas amusement technique is
spontaneous and nondeliberate. The former is the result of the
organizer’s decision; the latter, of the mob’s need.

Consider the average man as he comes home from his job. Very
likely he has spent the day in a completely hygienic environment,
and everything has been done to balance his environment and
lessen his fatigue. However, he has had to work without stopping
and under constant pressure; nervous fatigue has replaced muscu-
lar fatigue. When he leaves his job, his joy in finishing his stint is
mixed with dissatisfaction with a work as fruitless as it is incompre-
hensible and as far from really productive work. At home he “finds
himself* again. But what does he find? He finds a phantom. If he
ever thinks, his reflections terrify him. Personal destiny is fulfilled
only by death; but reflection tells him that for him there has not
been anything between his adolescent adventures and his death,
no point at which he himself ever made a decision or initiated a
change. Changes are the exclusive prerogative of organized tech-
nical society, which one day may have decked him out in khaki to
defend it, and on another in stripes because he had sabotaged or
betrayed it There was no difference from one day to the next. Yet
life was never serene, for newspapers and news reports beset him
at the end of the day and forced on him the image of an insecure
world. If it was not hot or cold war, there were all sorts of acci-
dents to drive home to him the precariousness of his life. Tom be-
tween this precariousness and the absolute, unalterable determi-
nateness of work, he has no place, belongs nowhere. Whether
something happens to him, or nothing happens, he is in neither
case the author of his destiny.

Tiie man of the technical society does not want to encounter his
phantom. He resents being tom between the extremes of accident
and technical absolutism. He dreads the knowledge that every-
thing ends “six feet under.” He could accept the six-feet-under of
his life if, and only if, life had some meaning and he could choose,
say, to die. But when nothing makes sense, when nothing is the
result of free choice, the final six-feet-under is an abominable in-
justice. Technical civilization has made a great error in not sup-
pressing death, the only human reality still intact

Man is still capable of lucid moments about the future. Propa-

The Technological Society ( 377

ganda techniques have not been able wholly to convince him that
life has any meaning left. But amusement techniques have jumped
into the breach and taught him at least how to flee the presence of
death. He no longer needs faith or some difficult asceticism to
deaden himself to his condition. The movies and television lead
him straight into an artificial paradise. Rather than face his own
phantom, he seeks film phantoms into which he can project him-
self and which permit him to live as he might have willed. For an
hour or two he can cease to be himself, as his personality dissolves
and fades into the anonymous mass of spectators. The film makes
him laugh, cry, wonder, and love. He goes to bed with the lead-
ing lady, kills the villain, and masters life’s absurdities. In short, he
becomes a hero. Life suddenly has meaning.

The theater presupposed an intellectual mechanism and left the
spectator in some sense intact and capable of judgment. The mo-
tion picture by means of its “reality” integrates the spectator so
completely that an uncommon spiritual force or psychological ed-
ucation is necessary to resist its pressures. In any case, people go to
the movies to escape and consequently yield to its pressures. They
find forgetfulness, and in forgetfulness the honied freedom they do
not find in their work or at home. They live on the screen a life they
will never live in fact.

It will be said that dreams and hope have been the traditional
means of escape in times of famine and persecution. But today
there is no hope, and the dream is no longer the personal act of an
individual who freely chooses to flee some “reality” or other. It is a
mass phenomenon of millions of men who desire to help them-
selves to a slice of life, freedom, and immortality. Separated from
his essence, like a snail deprived of its shell, man is only a blob of
plastic matter modeled after the moving images.

There is a vast difference between the dreams and hopes of the
past and those of the present. Formerly, with the conviction that
“things would change,” hope was a beacon illuminating the future.
Dreams represented flight, but flight into one’s own self. In motion
pictures, however, the future is not involved. On the strip of film,
what ought to change has already changed. And the flight of cine-
matic dreams has nothing to do with the inner life; it concerns mere
externals. When people leave the movie theater, they are full of the
possibilities they experienced in the shadows; they have received

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

378)

their dose of the inner life. Their problems too have undergone a
transformation. They are now problems posed by the film. And they
have the blissful, if contradictory, impression that these cinematic
problems, which occupy the whole field of their consciousness, are
both strong enough to put all vexations to flight and unreal enough
not to be troublesome. The modem passion for motion pictures is
completely explained by the will to escape. Just as the tempo of
work or the authority of the state presupposes spiritual adhesion
and hence propaganda, so the human condition under the regime
of technique supposes the escapism which diversional techniques
offer. One cannot but marvel at an organization which provides the
antidote as it distills the poison.

Man, emptied by the technical mechanism of all personal inter*
ests, sometimes finds himself at home. What shall he talk about?
Man has always had one unfailing subject of conversation, life’s
vexations. Not fear, nor anguish, despair, or passion. All that has
always been suppressed in his subconscious. But he has always
been able to talk companionably about vexatious things, hail on
his vines, mildew, machinery out of order, a troublesome prostate,
and so forth. Now technique intervenes, repairs everything, and
creates a world in which everything works well, or well enough.
Even if some petty vexations persist, the individual feels no need
to speak of them and turns toward the efficient silence-fillers, tele-
vision and radio, prodigiously useful refuges for those who find that
family life has become impossible. Jean Laloup and Jean Nelis
evince a curious optimism when they write that radio and televi-
sion have reconstituted the family. Television doubtless facilitates
material reunion. Because of it the children no longer go out in the
evenings. The members of the family are indeed all present materi-
ally, but centered on the television set, they are unaware of one
another. If they cannot stand or understand one another, if they
have nothing to say, radio and television make this easy to bear by 1
re-establishing external relations and avoiding friction. Thanks to
these technical devices, it is no longer necessary for the members
of a family to have anything at all to do with one another or even to
be conscious of the fact that family relations are impossible. It is no
longer necessary to make decisions. It is possible for a married
couple to live together a long time without ever meeting each
other in the resonant emptiness of television. This too is a curious

The Technological Society (379

means of escape, of hiding from others instead of from oneself. It is
the modem mask man puts on every evening, which unfortunately,
lacks the virtues of the ancient mask, demoniac and divine.

One of the best studies of the problem of the radio, that of Roger
Veille, reminds us that the ear is the great “fault” in man. Through
it he perceives the “silence of the infinite spaces”; it is the point of
origin of his great disturbance. The ear, unlike the eye, evokes mys-
tery and renunciation; it is the center of anguish and anxiety. And
radio fills this opening, protecting man against the silence and the
mystery by amusing him. The program makers know all this and
create their programs as a function of this escapism, not for motives
of crass commercialism or Machiavellianism (as some people seem
to think), but because they themselves partake of the human con-
dition and seek protection against its anguish. It follows, then, that
the radio makes a clean break between everyday social reality and
the dreams and narcotics which its duty is to dispense. To use the
words of Veille, it must be one of the “liberating distractions/’ It
must deliver the individual from objective constraints. It is a pub-
lic utility dealing in moral comfort, charged with offsetting the
tragedies of family living, social pressures, and the vexations of
modem life. The radio must compensate for the inhumanities of
life in today s cities. In a milieu in which the human being is un-
able to make true friendships or to have profound experiences, the
radio must furnish him with the appearances of reality, acquaint-
ance, and human proximity; it must captivate and reassure him.
But Veille rightly inquires whether “the radio may not gradually
habituate to mere auditory images those to whom it gives the illu-
sion of belonging; and, what is worse, condition them to the ab-
sence of interlocutors,” Unfortunately, the answer to Veilles
question is clear. There is no other comparable instrument of hu-
man isolation. The radio, and television even more than the radio,
shuts up the individual in an echoing mechanical universe in which
he is alone. He already knew little enough about his neighbors, and
now the separation between him and his fellows is further
widened. Men become accustomed to listening to machines and
talking to machines, as, for example, with telephones and dicta-
phones. No more face-to-face encounters, no more dialogue. In a
perpetual monologue by means of which he escapes the anguish of
silence and the inconvenience of neighbors, man finds refuge in

3$0 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

the lap of technique, which envelops him in solitude and at the
same time reassures him with all its hoaxes. Television, because
of its power of fascination and its capacity of visual and auditory
penetration, is probably the technical instrument which is most
destructive of personality and of human relations. What man seeks
is evidently an absolute distraction, a total obliviousness of him-
self and his problems, and the simultaneous fusion of his con-
sciousness with an omnipresent technical diversion.

In diversion we are at a stage of development in which technique
answers the needs of men in a technical society, but a society in
which they are still free to use or not to use the available technical
means. "If you wish to escape,” says technique, “you are welcome
to try” Modern men, however, are beginning to be aware of their
need at all costs not to challenge the technical situation, and to
recognize that technical means exist to meet this need. Take, for
example, the extraordinary success of Butlin’s vacation camps in
Great Britain. Butlin grasped the fact that in a world at once exact-
ing and depersonalizing in the extreme, the vacation most men
prefer must be a genuine vacuum, an ever greater depersonaliza-
tion which gives the impression of freedom but which never allows
the individual to come face to face with himself, even materially.
To achieve this end, Butlin in 1938 organized his “family vacation
camps.” The vacationer lives in a crowd on a strict timetable judi-
ciously arranged so that each day will be different, giving the
impression of constant novelty and variety. Games, songs, theater,
eating, “fun” succeed one another at a rapid tempo from seven
o'clock in the morning until midnight. “The important thing,” says
Butlin, “is that no one is ever left to himself even for a moment.*
Everything takes place in a spirit of gaiety and liveliness and under
the direction of game leaders who are “specialists.” All available
means are employed to persuade the individual that he is happy.
Since each camp can accommodate four thousand persons, there is
little difficulty in arranging for the vacationer to pass his holiday,
which lasts a fortnight, among a crowd of people. The whole thing
represents an elaborate and rigorous enterprise for becoming un-
conscious, carried out by a technique described in detail by Butlin
himself. Butlin minces no words. The problem, as he sees it, is to
make his customers systematically lose consciousness, not as be-
fore from political motives, but from motives of pure entertain-

The Technological Society ( 381

ment. Here is technique put to the service of a kind of Pascalian
distraction. Not exactly the same kind, since it is not so much a
matter of dodging the dilemma of man facing eternity as of dodg-
ing the conflict between man and his situation in this life; of for-
getting to meditate not so much on the two infinitives (something
most men are incapable of) as on the obvious crashing absurdity
of life in a technical world. The average man is inevitably con-
scious of this. He must therefore becloud his consciousness at any
cost, and in this, it seems, he is in essential accord with the need*
of a technical society. Our thesis is verified by the prodigious suc-
cess of Butlin's camps, a success which is perhaps the most aston-
ishing thing about them. In 1947, four hundred thousand person*
vacationed in them, and the number has been growing steadily.
And bear in mind that these figures represent Englishmen, who by
their very nature would seem the most hostile to this kind of thing.

This demonstrates the complete adaptation of technical amuse-
ments to technical society and to their sociological function. How
illusory is the effort to make of the motion pictures an educative
art and a means of instruction! Art films and films with philosophic
or political intent simply do not correspond to the wishes of the
movie-going public. It can, of course, be legitimately maintained
that motion pictures are nonetheless a means of 'educating* the
public. But here we must guard against a certain confusion; educa-
tion of the spectator's taste and understanding takes place, but
only incidentally. The clouding of his consciousness is paramount,
and art and science can contribute to this end. The film can suc-
ceed only if it puts art to the service of a sociologically necessary
and technically possible enterprise; only if art (and indoctrination
disguised as science ) becomes the new means of wrenching men
from reality. If this were not the case, the public would not have
patronized films like the first ones of Orion Welles.

Spontaneous or organized mechanisms of entertainment such a*

I have described are useful only to the degree that propaganda
technique is undeveloped. Propaganda, as it develops, tends to
assimilate amusement, which either makes its appearance as an
efficient propaganda medium or, at a later stage, is exploited for
purposes of human adaptation.

This last makes it impossible to agree with Veilles suggestion
that the Swedish or Russian radio is not concerned with “distrac-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

3 $*)

tions,” with building up a social structure of lies and soporifics, be-
cause the citizens of these states have been M set free" and no
longer “feel the wearisome continuity of daily obligations ” Veille,
it may be noted, tends implicitly to see in this fact one of the benefi-
cial effects of socialism. In reality, the condition he describes is
due to the fact that the Swedes are the most “integrated” and
adapted of all mankind. They have alienated themselves to the
greatest possible degree in the organization, so that they are no
longer conscious of any cleavage between personality and tech-
nique, and do not therefore need an artificial paradise. In the case
of the Russians, propaganda has cleverly absorbed and replaced
amusement. The Russian citizen subjected to his government's daily
propaganda (the most highly developed in the world) is unaware
of anxiety. But, then, the same was true of Hitler’s Germany.

Sport , There is one last sphere where man can still frolic, but there
too technique has stopped up all the gaps. I am referring to sport.

Sport has been conditioned by the organization of the great
cities; apart from city life, its very invention is inconceivable. Coun-
try “sport” is but a pale imitation of city sport and has none of the
characteristics of what we know as sport.

The sporting vocabulary is English; it was introduced to the con-
tinent when the continental nations came under the influence of
English industrialization. After the industrial center of gravity
passed to the United States, American sporting forms prevailed.
The Soviet Union began to cultivate sport when it began to indus-
trialize; the only country in central Europe which had organized
sport, Czechoslovakia, was the only one which was industrialized.

Sport is tied to industry because it represents a reaction against
industrial life. Tn fact, the best athletes come from working-class
environments. Peasants, woodsmen, and the like, may be more vig-
orous than the proletariat, but they are not as good athletes. In
part, the reason for this is that machine work develops the mus-
culature necessary for sport, which is very different from peasant
musculature. Machine work also develops the speed and precision
of actions and reflexes.

Moreover, sport is linked with the technical world because sport
itself is a technique. The enormous contrast between the athletes
of Greece and those of Rome is well known. For the Greeks, physi-
cal exercise was an ethic for developing freely and harmoniously

The Technological Society (383

the form and strength of the human body. For the Romans, it was a
technique for increasing the legionnaire’s efficiency. The Roman
conception prevails today. Everyone knows the difference be-
tween a fisherman, a sailor, a swimmer, a cyclist, and people who
fish, sail, swim, and cycle for sport. The last are technicians; as Jun-
ger says, they “tend to carry to perfection the mechanical side of
their activity." This mechanization of actions is accompanied
by the mechanization of sporting goods — stop watches, starting
machines, and so on. In this exact measurement of time, in this
precision training of muscular actions, and in the principle of the
“record," we find repeated in sport one of the essential elements of
industrial life.

Here too the human being becomes a kind of machine, and his
machine-controlled activity becomes a technique. This technical
civilization profits by this mechanization: the individual, by
means of the discipline imposed on him by sport, not only plays
and finds relaxation from the various compulsions to which he is
subjected, but without knowing it trains himself for new compul-
sions. A familiar process is repeated: real play and enjoyment, con-
tact with air and water, improvisation and spontaneity all disap-
pear. These values are lost to the pursuit of efficiency, records, and
strict rules. Training in sports makes of the individual an efficient
piece of apparatus which is henceforth unacquainted with any-
thing but the harsh joy of exploiting his body and winning.

The most important thing, however, is not the education of a few
specialists, but the extension of the sporting mentality to the
masses. Insofar as this represents a vigorous reaction to the mere
passivity of spectator sports, it is good. But the usual result is the
integration of more and more innocents into an insidious tech-
nique.

It is needless to speak of the totalitarian frame of mind for which
the exercise of sports paves the way. We constantly hear that the
vital thing is “team spirit," and so on. It is worth noting that tech-
nicized sport was first developed in the United States, the most
conformist of all countries, and that it was then developed as a mat-
ter of course by the dictatorships, Fascist, Nazi, and Communist,
to the point that it became an indispensable constituent element
of totalitarian regimes.

Sport is an essential factor in the creation of the mass man. It is,

HUMAN TECHNIQUES.

3S4}

at the time, a disciplinary factor, and this in a twofold way. It coin-
cides exactly with totalitarian and with technical culture. In the
'‘new" countries, an interpenetration of technique and the practice
of sport is to be observed. The authoritarian states understand and
exploit fully the efficiency of technicized sport in making their citi-
zens into conformists and mass men. It is one of the chief boasts of
Communist states that they fabricate champions in countries
which hitherto had never heard the word sport . This is an effect of
the totalitarian society, but it also represents one of its inodes of
action. In every conceivable way sport is an extension of the tech-
nical spirit. Its mechanisms reach into the individual’s innermost
life, working a transformation of his body and its motions as a func-
tion of technique and not as a function of some traditional end
foreign to technique, as, for example, harmony, joy, or the realiza-
tion of a spiritual good. In sport, as elsewhere, nothing gratuitous
is allowed to exist; everything must be useful and must come up to
technical expectations.

Sport carries on without deviation the mechanical tradition of
furnishing relief and distraction to the worker after he has finished
his work proper so that he is at no time independent of one tech-
nique or another. In sport the citizen of the technical society finds
the same spirit, criteria, morality, actions, and objectives — in short,
all the technical laws and customs — which he encounters in office
or factory.

Medicine. Technique makes its major contribution in surgery and
medicine. I will consider these technical forms only briefly, first
because they are far removed from the area of my own special com-
petence, and second because they are as uncertain as they are fa-
miliar.

How can we classify these techniques? A report published in the
review Esprit states: "Thanks to our knowledge of psychophysio-
logical correlations, it is possible to claim that we are in a position
to modify the human being's interior energetics." These modifica-
tions may be achieved by the following means: (1) appropriate
nutritional regimes involving vitamins and the like; (2) suppres-
sion of glandular secretions, as, for example, castration or steriliza-
tion to control antisocial and overaggressive reactions; (3) injec-
tion or grafting of hormones, as, for example, in attempts to
increase bodily energy, virility, femininity, or the maternal in-

The T echnological Society ( 3 8 5

stinct; (4) prolonged synthetic medication to modify metabolism;
(5) operative interruption of the nerve paths of intracerebral
communication (to which must be added lobotomies and thala-
motomies, both of which involve direct intervention on the brain
and entail a "lowering of the psychic level”).

We ought to add to the above the whole pharmacopeia of “police
drugs,” as certain narcotics have become popularly known. These
so-called “truth serums,” that do not extract the truth, have a bad
reputation, and they are still limited to professional medical use.
Because of this, we must insist that there are extremely few au-
thenticated instances in which sodium pentothal, for example, has
been employed for other than medical reasons. Even the accounts
of the celebrated trials in the Soviet Union and its satellites in
which the defendants accused themselves must be taken with a
grain of salt. There is nothing to prove conclusively that truth se-
rums were ever used, and there are good technical reasons for
believing otherwise. In any case, no positive conclusions can be
based on such evidence as we possess. What is clear is that these
presumed techniques, as they are represented by the press, evoke
spectacular public reaction and inquiries. The chief reason for the
public's belief in the efficacy of truth serums is probably moral
indignation and fear brought to a pitch of madness by anti-
Communism, so that the real state of affairs becomes proportion-
ately harder to analyze scientifically. It is undeniable, however,
that it is possible to modify the human being effectively, but it is
still uncertain just how this modification occurs or what can ulti-
mately be expected from such technical intervention. From my
point of view, these medical techniques of intervention have only
secondary importance. I would not deny that they represent a
major intervention; they affect the human being materially and
modify him in far-reaching ways. Morally, such intervention is cer-
tainly a grave matter, but the problem, after all, is not essentially
different from that posed by the death penalty.

As for medical technique, what is to be feared and hoped from its
application? And with what other technical system will this tech-
nique be interrelated? The answer is: solely with the state. And
this indicates what we have to fear. It is universally understood
that technical means begin to be dangerous when the state begins
to exploit them, utilizing them in connection with its arbitrary,

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

3 86 )

omnipotent decisions. When the individual undertakes to systema-
tize a number of techniques, he seldom creates a sturdy structure.
The technical framework of our world is linked together naturally,
not by arbitrary human decision, and it is this which gives it its
solidity. The field of application of these medical techniques will
of necessity be very limited, since they will be applied only to
persons expressly designated by the state as enemies or undesir-
ables. These techniques can essentially serve only the state’s de-
signs — whether they are to break the spirit of the last remaining
free men or to eliminate the old or to obtain sensational confessions
or declarations during a fake trial. And these designs must be
limited, since in the last analysis the state can have no interest in
generalizing methods which appear to degrade the human being.
The state, on the contrary, has need of whole, strong human beings,
in full moral, intellectual, and physical vigor, who alone can serve
it best. What the state requires is the technical means for integrat-
ing completely whole beings, and these means are on the point of
becoming a reality. The technical state will not be a party to the
deterioration of its material. Only with regard to already useless
material (because it is refractory or weak) could the technical
state be driven to use one of these techniques. It is certainly not
altogether out of the question that the state might employ these
techniques. But the state has many other means of attaining its
ends. Since it has at its disposal concentration camps and the death
sentence, it would hardly go out of its way to find more compli-
cated means, except perhaps for the sake of occasional propaganda.
And certainly the population need not become so alarmed about
what is, after all, only a lesser evil.

Surgical and medical intervention have another defect from the
state’s point of view. They cannot be generalized, and are as a
consequence indeterminate except for special cases. Each new
case requires the state to make a special decision; these techniques
cannot function with the autonomous regularity of such state or-
gans as the police. Indeed, it is necessary to limit application, be-
cause the general public must be kept in ignorance. The citizens
are far from ready to accept the use of these techniques, and would
be easily aroused if they learned of it. The danger of a popular
reaction, even a momentary one, against the state is too great to
risk for the limited advantages the state might draw from their use.

The T ecknological Society ( 3 8 7

It does not seem, therefore, that medical techniques are an im-
portant part of the body of human techniques. It is possible of
course to envision a time when surgery will be able to modify
brain structure instead of destroying it and thereby will be able
to reconstruct a positive personality. But this is still speculative.
My conviction is that there is little chance of practical applica-
tion here, apart, perhaps, from the purely medical sphere. Surgical
intervention must be relegated to a relatively distant future. And
when we consider the remarkable development of psychosociology
and social psychoanalysis, both of which are presently being ap-
plied on a mass scale, it is clear that with these the state can
achieve anything it might hope to achieve through surgical modifi-
cation of the human personality. Surgical intervention can only
produce “consolidating” effects. We might ask whether the game
is worth the candle, since such intervention, when undertaken by
the state, confirms all our moral reservations and strictures con-
cerning the state’s contempt for the human personality.

The over-all efficiency of these techniques does not allow us to
attach any great weight to them. Their real importance, which
causes some disquiet, is that they are a “red herring ” Since they
are spectacular, the public pitches upon them fearfully and crys-
tallizes about them its diffuse fear of technique in general. But it
is relatively easy to prove to the public that in this respect its
fears are groundless. The public, unable to see the real problem of
technique because it gravitates unerringly to glaring superficialities
and wavers between unreasoning fear and false security, never
penetrates to the heart of the problem of modem society.

Echoes

Techniques , Men, and Man. Here ends the long encirclement of
men by technique. It is not the result of a plot or plan by any one
man or any group of men who direct it or apply it or shunt it in
new directions. The technical phenomenon is impersonal, and in
following its course we have found that it is directed toward man.
In investigating its preferred loci, we find man himself. This man
is not the man in the mirror. Nor is he the man next door or the
man in the street. Proceeding at its own tempo, technique analyzes

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

3 55 )

its objects so that it can reconstitute them; in the case of man, it
has analyzed him and synthesized a hitherto unknown being.

Technique never works on the man we meet in the street. The
great scandal of Nazism was its indecency in applying its tech-
niques to Otto Schultz, who had a family name and a given name,
who practiced his trade and led his life in full view of hundreds
of his neighbors. He was operated on without anesthesia, dragged
off under duress to the accompaniment of the lamentations of his
family. The physicians of Struthof were scandalous because of
their cynicism and brutality. It was a glaring blunder for the Nazis
to show such complete contempt for human feelings. We do bet-
ter; we operate painlessly. Even when we use successive opera-
tions to demonstrate the evolutionary processes of the human
embryo, the procedures are carried out on “volunteers,** and no
one complains very much. None of our techniques claims that it
applies to the living.

Because it is first of all scientific, technique obeys the great law
of specialization; it can be efficient only if it is specialized. In the
case of human beings, efficiency has a double meaning. It means
that technique must be applicable without raising storms of pro-
test. And it means that it must not neglect the scientific aspect
(which is the most important) of this specialization. Techniques
are designed for application to a relatively limited number of
cases; as a consequence, general applicability cannot be envisaged.
Every human technique has its circumscribed sphere of action, and
none of them covers the whole of man. As we have seen, there are
psychological techniques, educational techniques, and many oth-
ers. Each of these answers one and only one particular need. If
one of them is applied, it does indeed encroach on some private
sphere or other of the individual, but the greatest part remains
private. There is therefore never any clear reason to protest This
relatively impersonal technical operation is a far cry from one
which would hurl man brutally into a world of concentration
camps where the most strident, dramatic, overwhelming techniques
suddenly descend on him.

A further mistake of Nazism was to dress its techniques in a
demoniac mask designed to inspire terror. Because the use of
terror is also a technique, the Nazis made it an invariable accom-
paniment of all their other techniques, shocking the rest of the

The Technological Society (389

world by useless excess. We do better. We dress technique in the
aseptic mask of the surgeon. Impassivity is an attribute of the new
god, as it was an attribute of the old. The true face of modern
technique is far more like the Deist's triangle than the grimacing
mask of Siva.

A single technique and its guarded application to a limited
sphere is the starting point of dissociation. No technician anywhere
would say that he is submitting men, collectively or individually,
to technique. The biogeneticist who experiments on the human
embryo, or the film director who tries to affect his audience to the
greatest possible degree, makes no claim that he is working on
man. The individual is broken into a number of independent frag-
ments, and no two techniques have the same dimensions or depth.
Nor does any combination of techniques (for example, propaganda
plus vocational guidance) correspond to any part of the human
being. The result is that every technique can assert its innocence.
Where, then, or by whom, is the human individual being attacked?
Nowhere and by no one. Such is the reply of technique and tech-
nician. They ask indignantly how it can be alleged that the hu-
man being is being attacked through the application of the new
school of technique. According to them, the charge itself demon-
strates an absence of comprehension and the presence of errone-
ous, not to say malicious, prejudices. And, in fact, every technician
taken separately can affirm that he is innocent of aggressive de-
signs against the human being. The biologist, working on a living
embryo with the consent of the mother, is guilty of no assault on
her life or her honor. Thus, since no technician applies his tech-
nique to the whole man, he can wash his hands of responsibility
and declare that the human being remains intact.

A larger view of the technician's operations thus presents a
totally reassuring and even edifying picture. Every technician
working on a tiny particle (so tiny it could not be considered a
man ) of living flesh can claim that he is at work in the name of a
higher being: Man.

Technicians are not very complicated beings. In truth, they are
as simple as their techniques, which more and more assimilate
them. The Communists are no doubt right in thinking that all moral
problems will be resolved when all men have become technicians.

If it is an important part of the work of our “intellectuals” to

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

390 )

analyze the times and discover all the myths at work in the twen-
tieth century, this task will demonstrate that the myths are deep-
rooted and widespread. And when they turn their critical faculties
to the myths of the technicians, they will not need to delve much
or deeply. The technicians' myth is simply Man— not you or I, but
an abstract entity. The technician intones; "We strive for Mans
happiness; we seek to create a Man of excellence. We put the
forces of nature at his disposal in full confidence that he will over-
come the problems of the present/* and so on. Other modem
myths — for example, the myth of “progress'* or of the “proletariat**
— are immeasurably less real to the technician than the myth of the
abstract entity Man, in which he finds his justification. This myth,
moreover, represents a stage he cannot transcend, for he has small
ideology and less philosophy. He understands his methods, which
he applies with satisfaction because they yield immediate results.
The technician anticipates results, but, be it said, they are not
genuine ends but merely results. And then he makes the great
leap into the unknown and finds the explanation of everything and
the answer to all possible objections: the myth of Man. The tech-
nician either does not believe in the myth at all or believes in it
only superficially. It respresents for him a ready-made and com-
fortable conviction, a ready answer to all criticism. It is a justifica-
tion, but scarcely a conscious one. Why indeed should the techni-
cian justify himself? He feels in no way guilty; his good intentions
are as clear as their excellent results are undeniable. No. the tech-
nician has no need of justification. And if ever the slightest doubt
were to penetrate his consciousness, his answer would be as clear
as it would be staggering; The Man for whom I am working is
Humanity, the Species, the Proletariat., the Race, Man the crea-
ture, Man the eternal, even You, All technical systems, whether
they be expressed in Communist or Liberal phraseology, come
back in the final analysis to this abstraction. All technicians, too.
The technicians, in any case, do not have sufficient intellectual
curiosity to ask themselves what their favorite abstraction really
means or what the relation is between this abstraction and tech-
nique. Not, one supposes, that intellectual curiosity would be worth
much here. The abstraction, Man, is only an epiphenomenon in
the Marxist sense; a natural secretion of technical progress.

Why then become agitated? We have, on the one hand, various

The Technological Society (391

techniques, each of which exerts only partial action and can there-
fore be of no danger to man’s total being- On the other hand, we
have a myth, “Man,” which more or less deifies him and in any
case strongly affirms that technique is subordinate to the human
being- What more could we want?

However, one important fact has escaped the notice of the tech-
nicians, the phenomenon of technical convergence. Monnerot has
defined political totalitarianism as a convergence of a plurality of
national histories with a plurality of political systems. Our interest
here is the convergence on man of a plurality, not of techniques,
but of systems or complexes of techniques. The result is an opera-
tional totalitarianism; no longer is any part of man free and in-
dependent of these techniques. This convergence might be likened
to the convergence of theater projectors, each of which has a spe-
cific color, intensity, and direction, but each of which can fulfill
its individual function only in conjunction with the others. The
effect cannot be predicted on the basis of the individual projectors,
only on the basis of the object illuminated. Such is the case with
human techniques- A plurality of them converge toward the hu-
man being, and each individual technician can assert in good
faith that his technique leaves intact the integrity of its object- But
the technician's opinion is of no importance, for the problem con-
cerns not his technique, but the convergence of all techniques. It
is impossible to determine, by considering any human technique in
isolation, whether its human object remains intact or not. The
problem can be solved only by using the human being as a cri-
terion, only by looking at this point of convergence of technical
systems. This is why I have had to make a preliminary enumeration
of the various technical complexes which have been applied to
maa

Now, two additional remarks are in order. First, as I have said
repeatedly, technical convergence is not brought about by the will
of any technician or any group of technicians. No technician acts
as conductor of the technical orchestra. Convergence is a com-
pletely spontaneous phenomenon, representing a normal stage in
the evolution of technique. The technicians are not conscious of
the mechanism and even sometimes do not approve of it. Some in-
tellectuals have a dim awareness of the fact of convergence and
recognize, generally optimistically, that the technical movement

39 s ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

Is directed to the whole man. Some technicians are indeed seeking
gropingly to unify a number of different techniques. Cybernetics
and psychosomatic medicine are good examples of this, and con-
firm, incidentally, the phenomenon of technical convergence. At
the midpoint of the twentieth century we begin to become con-
scious of the phenomenon.

It is difficult to exploit the techniques that already exist precisely
because of the fact of technical specialization. Our highly special-
ized technicians will have a vast number of problems to hurdle
before they are in a position to put together the pieces of the puz-
zle. The technical operations involved do not appear to fit well
together, and only by means of a new technique of organization
will it be possible to unite the different pieces into a whole. When
this has finally been accomplished, however, human techniques
will develop very fast. As yet unrecognized potentialities for in-
fluencing the individual will appear. At the moment such possi-
bilities are only dimly discerned in the penumbra of totalitarian
regimes still in their infancy. It should not be forgotten, of course,
that, while our technicians are trying to synthesize the various
techniques theoretically, a synthetic unity already exists de facto,
and man is its object.

Our second remark concerns certain judgments we might be
tempted to make. In discussing the effects of technique on man,
we must avoid overhasty or superficial generalizations. We must
not become too agitated or hold that man’s nature is cut into bits
and pieces. We must be wary of using a mystical vocabulary. We
do not understand very well what man is, and nothing we know
would justify us in declaring his character sacred or some part of
it inalienable and purely personal or in asserting that he has su-
preme value. The values may be there, but they elude us as soon
as we try to define them or to make precise their nature and loca-
tion. Is this supreme value under attack? When we behold the
individual, trapped in technical mechanisms, we are indeed
tempted to reply in the affirmative. But if we analyze the situation
concretely, we cannot discover the locus of the attack or even
what is being attacked.

For this, another system of references is needed, a conception
of man which is a priori and nonscientific. But then we must not
be surprised at the divergent reactions we get when we speak of

The T echnologfcal Society (393

the impact of techniques upon the human being. On the other
hand, we must not say that the question is unimportant. It would
be deceptive to ask, "Wh&t then is under attack?" and to enumerate
analytically the components of the human psyche, as determined
by the most up-to-date methods, in order to show that nothing
humanly valuable is endangered by the progress of technique. For
we never know whether there is not something in man which our
analyses and scientific apparatus are unable to grasp. All of us,
even the materialists, are sure that there is. For it is on the un-
moving and unseen axis, which is the essence of the wheel and
round which it turns, that all else depends.

But we cannot declare that it is unimportant if technique per-
meates everything human so long as it does not reach the unreach-
able center. This dualism is impossible because this "center" is not
abstract but concretely embodied. If the quality of being human
depends on it, and if this quality is modified by the ways in which
technique mauls man's body and soul, we have no right to say
that what is essential remains unscathed. There is, on the contrary,
every evidence that what is called the "person" is being danger-
ously impaired. Similarly, it is escapism to say that what can be
laid hold of in man is itself the result of many influences, many
social currents and collective habits, so why worry about the in-
fluence of technique?

I do not believe there are many proponents left of the idea that
man is something in himself, that he has an essence independent
of his milieu. But there is a broad middle ground between the in-
difference to technique affected by the philosophical dualists who
would maintain such a position and the indifference that the techni-
cal sycophants affect. Two reservations suffice. First, the fact that
the individual is subject to a given influence is no reason to make
him submit to another. Second, there is a difference between the
spontaneous and lightly coercive influence of an individualistic
social group and the calculated, precise, and efficient influence of
techniques.

But here we are at the mercy of religious and scientific prejudices,
which give rise to banal and superficial statements. In discussing
the human effects of technique, I have made every effort to avoid
passing favorable or unfavorable judgments and to shun journal-
istic commonplaces. My purpose is to inquire not so much into the

39 4 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

modifications of the human being that are being made as into the
symptoms of the technical encroachment which is now more or
less complete.

Let us not forget that every one of the human techniques is re-
lated to all other techniques. We must be on guard against at-
tempting to isolate them. When we say that human techniques
must compensate for the disagreeable consequences of other tech-
niques, we are arbitrarily isolating different technical spheres. Hu-
man techniques are closely dependent on economic, political, and
mechanical techniques, not only because of their origin and po-
tentialities, but even more because of the necessity for their ap-
plication. Economics and mechanics form a framework, a milieu,
within which human techniques necessarily belong. Suppressing
the context no doubt makes it easy to analyze these techniques and
to draw reassuring conclusions. But the conclusions are also com-
pletely unreliable. Human techniques have no existence except to
the degree that the human individual is subject to economic condi-
tions and to the degree that mechanical conditions permit the
means discovered to be exercised upon him. To neglect the tech-
nical context of these human techniques is to live in a world of
dreams. To admit it is to perceive that human techniques in the
real world (not in the world of philosophic abstractions where
freedom is always possible) are conditioned by the economic, the
political, and the mechanical. Human techniques, therefore, are
never “dominants" because they can exist only in relation to all the
others. They cannot be isolated in a pure state; and their means,
tendencies, and results must be interpreted in relation to these
others. If human techniques were ever to come into conflict with
the others, they would inevitably lose out, for they would retain no
real substance. To the degree that they might conceivably run
counter to the necessities, for example, of economic productivity,
they would ruin the condition sine qua non of their application.
Without unremitting productivity, the men, money, and time nec-
essary to their application would not be forthcoming. Human
techniques, therefore, are obliged to become a part of the techni-
cal system; the reassuring conclusions drawn by some writers seem
correspondingly less convincing.

The explicit problem then seems to be: If we can perceive certain

The Technological Society (395

echoes of techniques in man, how do these echoes enable us to
measure the degree of human technical encirclement?
Vhomme-machine .® A progressively more complete technical
knowledge of man is being developed. Will it liberate him? Man’s
traditional, spontaneous activities are now subjected to analysis in
all their aspects — objects, modes, durations, quantities, results. The
totality of these actions and feelings is then systematized, sche-
matized, and tabulated. A human type is created which is the only
recognizable “normal.” As Sargent puts it: “Technique will furnish
me with norms of life in whatever concerns work, food, housing,
education, and so on."

It is to be understood, of course, that there is no absolute obliga-
tion for the individual to conform to the type. He can, if he will,
despise it. But then he will always find himself in an inferior posi-
tion, vis4-vis the type, whenever the two come into competition.
Our human techniques must therefore result in the complete con-
ditioning of human behavior. They must assimilate man into the
complex “man-machine,” the formula of the future.

In the coupling of man and machine, a genuinely new entity
comes into being. Most writers still insist on the modem tendency,
which they profess to discern, to adapt the machine to the man.
Such adaptation doubtless exists and represents a great improve-
ment; but it entails its counterpart, the complete adaptation of the
man to the machine. This last does not lie in a remote future. Mans
nature has already been modified; and it is to an already adapted
individual that technique adapts mechanical apparatus. Such
adaptation is becoming progressively easier, and even takes place
spontaneously when the human techniques co-operate.

A familiar case in point is the “fixation” of workers in their work.
Polls reveal that when a worker begins work on an assembly line,
he frequently experiences a certain malaise. He is simply not cut
out for such work, and assembly-line workers are often tempted to
abandon it or to request transfers. They become jittery and nerv-
ous, and evidence a profound uneasiness. But to make a living
and to avoid the ever threatening unemployment, they must hold

•Literally, "Man: a machine.'* A famous French phrase and the title of Julien
Offroy de la Mettrie’s celebrated work (1748) which argues the materialistic
thesis that the soul, like die muscles, is the result of metabolism. (Trans.)

3 g6) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

on to their jobs. They must force themselves to adjust to working
conditions as they find them. They are "fixed" When they are
questioned, they claim to be satisfied and disclaim any desire for
change; the very idea of change, in fact, can call forth real fear.
The results of such polls are taken to indicate that the working
man is happy. But a completely different interpretation is pos-
sible: that the constant exercise of impersonal labor has resulted
in the total depersonalization of the laborer. He has been shaped
by his work, used by it, mechanized, and assimilated. Impartial
psychological investigations reveal that the workers have been de-
prived of initiative and responsibility; they are "adapted" to the
degree that they have become inert, unable to take risks in any
area. Such findings do not, perhaps, apply to all workers, but
they represent the current tendency. They are, moreover, readily
understandable. Why should we demand that workers be super-
men? Workers, like all other men in the technical society, have
acquired a fear of change, and feel the need of the work that costs
them so much. Their situation is analogous to that of the man who
began by reacting to propaganda, progressively abandoned him-
self to it, ended by being manipulated by it, and is no longer
capable of dispensing with this adjuvant to personality and excit-
ant to thought and feeling.

Until recently it was possible to show that worker adaptation to
a given machine did not represent excessive specialization in the
important sense that the specialized worker could be adapted to a
very great number of different machines. This statement is still
perhaps true for the period we are passing through today. But the
more monumental and exacting the machine becomes (and by
machine I understand organization . too), the more indissoluble
the complex man-machine becomes. The difficulty experienced by
pilots of hypermodem aircraft in changing over to another type of
machine, or even to another machine of the same type, is well
known. This last seems a good example of the irreversible condi-
tioning of the individual by technique. The more human factors
are taken into account in the development of technique, the more
man himself is a part of the development, not perhaps in a subordi-
nate role, but irreversibly and indissolubly superordinated. But
such superordination, even if we take it in its most favorable light,
can scarcely represent human liberation; the human being be-

The Technological Society i 397

comes completely incapable of escaping from the technical order
of things. Man and technique bear the same relation to each other
as the social superstructure bears to the economic infrastructure
in the Marxist scheme of things. Technicized man literally no
longer exists except in relation to the technical infrastructure.

The theory might be advanced that in the man-machine complex
man in some sense plays the role the soul plays in relation to the
body in certain philosophies. But the contrary would rather seem
the case, as J, M. Lahy implied long ago when he asked: "Will not
this man have less and less time to be conscious of his own living
presence?" No doubt, man will continue to steer the machine, but
only at the price of his individuality.

Again the adaptability of man will be raised as an objection to
my thesis. Why should not man be able to adapt to the technical
context, since he has in the past adapted to so many new situation!
and to so many different conditions equally representative of pro-
found change? Why should he forfeit his personal life now, after
he has for so long been able to take new conditions in stride with-
out forfeiting it? Technical adaptation will doubtless produce anew
human type, but why should this be condemned? My reply to thi!
theory (which has enjoyed great vogue in the past few years) is
that man does indeed possess an extraordinary adaptive capacity,
but this adaptability has produced very varied results. Some natives
of Tierra del Fuego have succeeded in adapting to life on Cape
Horn; but it can hardly be maintained that they represent a very
desirable human type. I entertain no doubts whatsoever that a
generalized human adaptability exists, but I am much less certain
of the excellence of its results in what concerns men in the con-
crete. I must add that I am much more interested in real men
who actually exist than in that ideal Man which has no existence
except as an image and an abstraction.

The ideal Man is an escapism which eases every kind erf
enormity with tranquilizing abstractions. We should remember
what the Nazis did with respect to this ideal in their extermination
camps (which destroyed some millions of unimportant specimens ).
We ought to avoid the same mistake with respect to this all-virtuoui
ideal in the universal concentration camp we live in. What is im-
portant is not the adaptability of Man, but the adaptability erf
men. We shall find the answer, not in the immortal soul of the

3 9 8 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

Species, but in the preservation of our own individual souls, which
are, perhaps, not immortal.

Our personal adaptability is limited. There are circumstances in
which men as we know them cannot live at all. They cannot live,
for example, in concentration camps, even when these exist without
supplementary tortures. There are conditions in which they can
indeed continue to exist, but only with the loss of everything which
makes them peculiarly human. In this connection we have only
to think of certain tribes terrifyingly close to the animal level (and,
in some aspects of life, even below it). We need only think of the
Nazi torture apparatus, or of the degradation experienced by the
ordinary man in the ranks of the army in wartime. In view of these
examples, we are entitled to ask what adaptation will really be like
in the man-machine complex. The psychotechnicians have recog-
nized that adaptation is not possible for everyone. In a completely
technicized world, there will be whole categories of men who will
have no place at all, because universal adaptation will be required.
Those who are adaptable will be so rigorously adapted that no
play in the complex will be possible. The complete joining of man
and machine will have the advantage, however, of making the
adaptation painless. And it will assure the technical efficiency of
the individuals who survive it.

Up to the present, adaptation has been the product of material
interaction, with all this implies in laxness, misfitting, and excess.
But future adaptation will be calculated according to a strict sys-
tem, the so-called “biocracy.” It will be impossible to escape this
system of adaptation because it will be articulated with so much
scientific understanding of the human being. The individual will
have no more need of conscience and virtue; his moral and mental
furnishings will be a matter of the biocrat's decisions.

At present we have little conception of what this new man will
be like. The technician by his existence gives us an inkling, but an
imperfect one; the technician still retains elements of spontaneity.
We are, however, able to divine what the new man will gain and
what he will lose in comparison with the average modem man.
The Dissociation of Man. A second element, which is of great im-
portance (and is, in a way, the inverse of the last), is the human
dissociation produced by techniques. The purpose of our human
techniques is ostensibly to reintegrate and restore the lost unity of

The Technological Society (399

the human being. But the unity produced is the abstract unity of
the ideal Man; in reality, the concrete application of techniques dis-
sociates man into fragments. We have already considered the dis-
sociation of human intelligence and action characteristic of modem
methods of work. The same tendency is found in “shift* work. It
is understood, of course, that in modem work the human being
accomplishes nothing; at best he performs a neutral function dur-
ing the "dead time” of the working day. He must exercise his
own personality, if he exercises it at all, during the eight hours of
leisure.

This tendency gives "good results” in the form of contented
workers. But in another sense it is exceedingly dangerous. It is im-
possible to make industrial labor interesting by allowing the worker
to introduce his own personality into it. He must be rendered com-
pletely unconscious and mechanized in such a way that he cannot
even dream of asserting himself. The technical problem is to make
his gestures so automatic that they have no personal quality at all.

What we usually say is: "The worker must be freed from con-
tinual preoccupation with the tasks of his vocation ” I can easily
see the good results of this liberation. But to call good the fact
that the worker thinks and dreams about matters unrelated to his
work while his body carries out certain mechanical activities is to
sanction the psychological dissociation between intelligence and
action which our technical society tends to produce and which is
possibly the greatest of human scourges. We thereby admit that,
when all is said and done, the ideal state, higher than conscious-
ness, is a dreaming sleep.

To acquiesce in the thesis that work is "neutral” is to acquiesce
in this profound rupture. Indeed, the individual cannot be "ab-
sent” from his work without great injury to himself. Work is an
expression of life. To assert that the individual expresses his per-
sonality and cultivates himself in the course of his leisure (we have
already considered what may be expected of mans leisure) is to
accept the suppression of half the human personality. History com-
pels the judgment that it is in work that human beings develop and
affirm their personality. Those who set an inordinately high value
on sports and gambling are without substance. Only see what
leisure has made of the bourgeois classes of society!

It is possible that the modern organization of industrial society

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

400)

has made people *happy. w The dissociation of mental activity from
physical actions probably results in a lessening of fatigue since
there is no longer any need to participate or to make decisions. It
is nonetheless undesirable to sanction this situation or to establish
it as the norm. To do so is inevitably to weaken the human per-
sonality; it is impossible so to fragment man's personality without
weakening it A certain disequilibration may be avoided by these
means. But the loss of creative power has disastrous psychological
consequences,- When the human being is no longer responsible for
his work and no longer figures in it, he feels spiritually outraged.
The technical organization of the technical society may obviate
certain tendencies to aggression and frustration (in a non-Freudian
sense). But the annihilation of work and its compensation with
leisure resolves the conflicts by referring them to a subhuman
plane.

It is difficult to understand the hope many modem men repose
in leisure. Yet this hope is prevalent. It is, for example, the point
of departure of Christian employers 1 who hold that in his leisure
time the worker can lead a personal life, escape the constraints put
upon him by society, and regain his psychic equilibrium. This is
also the attitude of the socialists, who advocate the greatest possible
reduction of working hours in order that the individual be afforded
certain possibilities of life and self-development. It is the attitude
of the technicians of labor, as reported by Friedmann. In com-
menting on certain essays of Leon Walther, Friedmann writes:
"We must conjure up the prospect of a society in which labor will
be of restricted duration, industrial operations automatized, and
piecework, requiring no attention, made pleasant by music and lec-
tures ... a society, in short, in which culture will be identified
completely with leisure. In a leisure more and more full of po-
tentialities, and more and more active, will be found the justifica-
tion of the humanistic experiment."

Friedmann is asserting here that it is impossible to make indus-
trial labor positive. But if we agree to Friedmann's proposition
that the human being can develop his personality only in the
cultivation of leisure, we are denying that work is an element of

1 See Rapport sur le travail au Cornell CEcumtnique ( 1948).

The Technological Society (401

personality fulfillment, or of satisfaction, or of happiness. This is
bad enough; but the situation is even more serious when we con-
sider that putting our hopes in leisure is really taking refuge in
idealism. If leisure were a real vacuum, a break with the forces of
the environment, and if, moreover, it were spontaneously utilized
for the education of the personality, the thesis of the value of
leisure might hold. But neither of these conditions is true.

We see first of all that leisure, instead of being a vacuum rep-
resenting a break with society, is literally stuffed with technical
mechanisms of compensation and integration. It is not a vacuous
interval. It is not a human kind of emptiness in which decisions
might be matured. Leisure time is a mechanized time and is ex-
ploited by techniques which, although different from those of
man's ordinary work, are as invasive, exacting, and leave man no
more free than labor itself. As to the second condition, it is simply
not the case that the individual, left on his own, will devote him-
self to the education of his personality or to a spiritual and cultural
life. We are perpetually falling into this idealism. In fact, modern
man himself seeks to give a technical form to his leisure time and
rebels against entering the sphere of human creativity. Since his
youth, and in his vocational activity, he has been unrelentingly
“adapted.’* If the individual must be regimented into intelligent
use of his free time, if he is obliged to spend this time learning
how to be “human," of what value are vacations and leisure? Where
in this new framework of propaganda is there room for the tran-
scendingly important elements of personality formation, choice,
personal experience, and spontaneous participation in creative ac-
tivity? Who or what is to be his guide in the collective, educative
employment of leisure? The employer? the administration? the
labor unions? To put the question at all is to recognize its fatuity.
What if man's leisure allowed him to judge his own work? What if,
in becoming “cultivated" or, even better, “a real person," he should
rebel against his stupid, mechanized job? Or find his four hours of
obligatory servitude an intolerable abasement? It is unimaginable.

We conclude that the education of the human personality can-
not but conform to the postulates of technical civilization. Man's
leisure must reinforce the other elements of this culture so there
will be no risk of producing poorly adjusted persons. This is the

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

402)

direction the techniques of amusement have taken. To gamble that
leisure will enable man to live is to sanction the dissociation I have
been describing and to cut him off completely from a part of life.

Historically it has always been possible for men to realize them-
selves in their free time. The individual has always found self-
expression both in work and in leisure; the two exist in a mutual
relationship and express two consubstantial aspects of the human
being. It is idealistic to expect leisure to replace the functions of
both work and leisure or to epitomize and take upon itself the whole
of life. A minimum condition would be that automatic work, the
travail neant, be of very limited duration, perhaps three or four
hours daily. But such a reduction of working hours is still a long
way off. And even if we could be certain that this would come to
pass in two or three generations, might not the human being have
been so transformed by that time that his spontaneous creative
power would have been irreparably destroyed? It would be utterly
idealistic to reply in the negative. And it would be twice-com-
pounded idealism to believe that the individual with fourteen
hours of leisure free of technique and of necessity, would spon-
taneously produce works expressing his personality.

There are people who have hobbies such as gardening or putter-
ing about the house. But what is the proportion of such people to
those who do nothing? The melancholy fact is that the human
personality has been almost wholly disassociated and dissolved
through mechanization.

All this shows once again how illusory it is to pin to one sector of
technique the hopes which serious analysis denies all of them. We
must conclude that the organizers of work, who have clearly recog-
nized the nature of modern labor, have failed to recognize the
nature of leisure. If it is asked whether leisure could be otherwise,
the answer is that it could. So could the conditions of work. And
the state and human nature. But if we are going in for all these
conditionals, paradise could also find a place on earth.

The Triumph of the Unconscious . Flight is always possible. It is,
indeed, the spontaneously chosen solution (moreover, it represents
still another aspect of the technical encirclement of the person). If
there cannot be any real salvation, the individual escapes into il-
lusion and unconsciousness. Modem man (I do not speak of the
theoreticians ) represses his fear of the technical world and intoxi-

The Technological Society ( 403

cates himself with action, or, better, with the illusion of action. One
of the most genuine men of our time, Georges Navel, is a living
witness t© $e possibility of true freedom even in a technical world.
But Navel has had to pay a fearful price for this freedom in effort,
asceticism, and refusal to compromise. And even Navel is not com-
pletely free of the illusion of action, as shown by his recommenda-
tion of ‘political participation” as one means of curing the world's
malaise.

The individual who engages in party politics, with its program
of activities, meetings, and fellowship, may well discover in it an
answer to the problems of disequilibration. Indeed, the more de-
manding the party, the more efficacious the remedy. Communism
long ago denounced the political activity of the democracies as an
intolerable hoax and a “flight into unreality.” For them, democratic
political “action” is completely useless. I will not go into Marx’s
analysis of democracy, which I hold to be true. But everything
Marx has to say about democratic political action seems to me to
hold, feature for feature, for Communist politics as well. The in-
dividual who throws himself into political activity of any coloration
has the gratifying impression that he is accomplishing something,
and justification and satisfaction. But the sad truth is that he is
resolutely by-passing the real problem and repressing it. This kind
of compensation, which is natural and easily understandable, can
nonetheless only result in human disintegration and a new techni-
cal alienation. A detailed consideration of political activity would
bring us back once more to the same point. Political activity allows
the human being to exist in the technical milieu, but it is regression
nonetheless, and a corollary to the general flight into unconscious-
ness.

But this is true of work and, in fact, of all elements of human life.
All of them, to the extent that they are encircled and repressed by
technique, tend to pass over the lower threshold of consciousness.
The unconscious tends, therefore, to play an ever more important
role in the conduct of human life.

Every technique, and above all every human technique, makes
a fundamental appeal to the unconscious. At the same time the
sphere of action of the unconscious is enlarged by means of the
repressions I have mentioned. It is highly significant that technical
elements begin to appear in what the psychoanalysts call the

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

404)

"great dreams." Th« traditional figures of certain typical dreams*
figures which go back to the remotest human times, are beginning
to be displaced by technical instruments. Bastide notes the appear-
ance of the automobile in the dreams of certain Indian tribes. The
important point here is that a technical contrivance has replaced
traditional symbols; the breakdown of an automobile, it would
seem, is symbolic of sexual derangement. This mechanical pene-
tration of the unconscious indicates that nothing human is exempt
from the influence of technique.

In art, technical influence has been marked. Indeed, modern art
expresses the subconscious precisely to the degree that the sub-
conscious has been influenced by the machine. The artist is in fact
a seismograph that records the fluctuations of man and society.
The cubist and abstract schools of art ( as, in poetry, dadaism and
oneirism) are aspects of this deep reality. With very different
forms, Chirico, Leger, and Marcel Duchamp, sometimes con-
sciously and sometimes unconsciously, show us the coupling of
machine and person. They show too the absurdity of the mechani-
cal world, however rational it may be, and the impossibility of an
aesthetic based on the technical movement unless it is an aesthetic
of madness. A major section of modern art and poetry uncon-
sciously guides us in the direction of madness; and, indeed, for the
modern man there is no other way. Only madness is inaccessible to
the machine. Every other "art" form can be reduced to technique;
note the utilitarian art of the Soviets. The artists of our time are the
most impressive witnesses to the fact that a true aesthetics is an
impossibility for men whose only alternatives are madness or pure
technique; and this in spite of the existence of powers of artistic
invention such as past civilizations have seldom seen.

As long as modem art was concerned with an aesthetic of move-
ment (as opposed to the older aesthetic of form), with the inte-
gration of duration into graphic representation, with the "simul-
taneity” of Miro, Picasso, and Klee, an artistic world capable of
development was still possible. But although the artist of the
present can still master and represent the impulse of the machine,
he is completely overwhelmed and impotent in a world that has a
place only for a human being who has been stripped of his real self.
Contemporary art forms bear witness to this impotence.

The Technological Society (405

We must pay due respect to the honorable struggle being waged
by those who wish to deliver men from the clutches of technique
and restore certain possibilities of living to man. If I have criticized
their research on work and leisure, I did so not because I object to
their aims but because I distrust their illusions and idealism.

If we take note of the penetration of technique into the un-
conscious, we must also consider the inverse, the exploitation of
this penetration by other techniques with the purpose of reinforc-
ing it and making it more complete. I have indicated that propa-
ganda is based on the manipulation of the subconscious by
technical means. So are those hypermodern police methods which
have as their end the establishment of a “neurotic complex* based
on feelings of insecurity. Our technical world not only creates these
feelings spontaneously, it develops them with malice aforethought
for technical reasons and by technical means which, in their action
on the human being, reinforce the structures of that technical
world. “The only person who still remains a private individual is
he who is asleep,” declared Robert Ley in a noteworthy phrase.
The words might be taken to refer exclusively to the Nazi regime.
But they are not limited. They pertain to the integration of all
men into a brutally technicized environment.

Ley's aphorism, however, is not altogether exact, for we have
observed the intrusion of technique even into dreams. This phe-
nomenon has been given a Freudian interpretation in terms of the
“superego,” which lays hold of the thoughts and feelings of every
individual. This concept of the superego, which is composed of the
collective imperative and mass assimilation, brings us to a new
series of observations centering about the “mass man.”

Mass Man . Modem society is moving toward a mass society, but
the human being is still not fully adapted to this new form.

The purpose of human techniques is to defend man, and the
first line of defense is that he be able to live. If these techniques
strengthen him in his nineteenth-century individualism (itself no
ideal state of affairs), they only aggravate the split between the
material structures of society, the social institutions, and the forces
of production, on the one hand, and man's personal tendencies, on
the other. This presupposes that technique can in fact defend
man's individuality. But such a disruption is technically impossible
because it would entail insupportable disorders for man. Human

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

406)

techniques must therefore act to adapt man to the mass. Moreover,
these techniques remain at variance with the other material tech-
niques on which they depend. They must contribute to making
man a mass man and help put an end to what has hitherto been
considered the normal type of humanity. The type that will emerge
and the type that will disappear will be the subjects of a forth-
coming work. For the moment, it suffices to establish concretely
the tendencies of our human techniques to create the mass man.

Material techniques usually result in a collective social form by
means of a process which is largely involuntary. But it is sometimes
voluntary; the technician, in agreement with the technical data,
may consider a collectivity a higher social form. Involuntary and
voluntary action are both to be observed, for example, in the sphere
of psychological collectivization. I have indicated (for example, in
my treatment of leisure ) the means by which this involuntary and,
in a way, automatic adaptation appears. I shall refer to one other
striking phenomenon of involuntary psychological collectivization:
advertising.

The primary purpose of advertising technique is the creation of a
certain way of life. And here it is much less important to convince
the individual rationally than to implant in him a certain concep-
tion of life. The object offered for sale by the advertiser is naturally
indispensable to the realization of this way of life. Now, objects
advertised are all the result of the same technical progress and are
all of identical type from a cultural point of view. Therefore, ad-
vertisements seeking to prove that these objects are indispensable
refer to the same conception of the world, man, progress, ideals —
in short, life. Once again we are confronted by a technical phe-
nomenon completely indifferent to all local and accidental dif-
ferences. Indeed, American. Soviet, and Nazi advertisements are
in inspiration closely akin; they express the same conception of life,
despite all superficial differences of doctrine. The Soviet Union,
after having for a period violently rejected the technical system of
advertising publicity, has more recently found it indispensable.

Advertising, which is founded on massive psychological research
that must be effective, can “put across” the technical way of life.
Any man who buys a given object participates in this way of life
and, by falling prey to the compulsive power of advertising, enters

The T echnologicd Society (407

involuntarily and unconsciously into its psychological framework.

One of the great designs of advertising is to create needs; but this
is possible only if these needs correspond to an ideal of life that
man accepts. The way of life offered by advertising is all the more
compelling in that it corresponds to certain easy and simple tend-
encies of man and refers to a world in which there are no spiritual
values to form and inform life. When men feel and respond to the
needs advertising creates, they are adhering to its ideal of life. This
explains the extremely rapid development, for example, of hygiene
and cocktails. No one, before the advent of advertising, felt the
need to be clean for cleanliness’ sake. It is clear that the models
used in advertising (Elsie the Cow, for instance) represent an ideal
type, and they are convincing in proportion to their ideality. The
human tendencies upon which advertising like this is based may be
strikingly simple-minded, but they nonetheless represent pretty
much the level of our modem life. Advertising offers us the ideal
we have always wanted (and that ideal is certainly not a heroic
way of life).

Advertising goes about its task of creating a psychological col-
lectivism by mobilizing certain human tendencies in order to intro-
duce the individual into the world of technique. Advertising also
carries these tendencies to the ideal, absolute limit. It accomplishes
this by playing down all other human tendencies. Every man is
concerned, for example, about his bodily health — but show him
Superman and it becomes his destiny to be Superman. In addition,
advertising offers man the means for realizing material desires
which hitherto had the tiresome propensity of not being realized.
In these three ways, psychological collectivism is brought into
being.

Advertising must affect all people; or at least an overwhelming
majority. Its goal is to persuade the masses to buy. It is therefore
necessary to base advertising on general psychological laws, which
must then be unilaterally developed by it. The inevitable conse-
quence is the creation of the mass man. As advertising of the most
varied products is concentrated, a new type of human being, pre-
cise and generalized, emerges. We can get a general impression
of this new human type by studying America, where human beings
tend clearly to become identified with the ideal of advertising. In

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

408)

America advertising enjoys universal popular adherence, and the
American way of life is fashioned by it

In addition to the involuntary, psychological activity which leads
to the creation of the mass man, there are certain conscious means
which can be used to attain the same end. We must not misunder-
stand the qualification conscious in this connection. The degree of
choice is very small; the process is effectively conditioned by ma-
terial techniques and the beliefs they engender. However, this
consciously concerted action is geared to psychological collectivi-
zation and, unlike advertising techniques, exerts a direct effect. It
has a twofold basis and a twofold orientation, and centers about
the notions of group integration and unanimity, which I shall dis-
cuss in the following section.

Up to now, in discussing human techniques we have considered
only man’s need for adaptation with a view to his happiness or, at
least, his equilibrium. This plays a role here too. For example, it
can be shown that in our society the individual experiences tran-
quility only in a consciously gregarious state. This involves not only
the indeniable “strength in unity” and "forgetfulness of ones lot
in the crowd,” but also the conscious recognition of the need to
apply adequate remedies to social dangers. In our culture, the per-
son who is not consciously adapted to his group cannot put up
adequate resistance. Lewin’s studies of anti-Semitism, for example,
indicate that the Zionist groups with their collective psychology
wcie able i.o withstand persecution much more readily than were
the unorganized Jews who had retained an individualistic men-
tality.

It cannot be denied that this kind of conscious psychological
adaptation, which gives the individual a chance to survive and
even be happy, can produce beneficial effects. Though he loses
much personal responsibility, he gains as compensation a spirit of
co-operation and a certain self-respect in his relations with other
members of the group. These are eminently C' Activist virtues, but
they are not negligible, and they assure the individual a certain
human dignity in the collectivity of mass men.

While I have insisted on the "humanistic” tendencies of human
techniques and, starting from the premise that man must be
adapted to be happy, have tried to demonstrate the necessity of

The Technological Society (40 9

these techniques and their interrelation with all other techniques,
my attitude has been resolutely optimistic. I have presupposed,
that technical practices and the intentions of the technicians wer$
subordinated to a concern with human good. And when I traced
the background of the human techniques, I proceeded from the
most favorable position, that of integral humanism, which, it is
claimed, is their foundation.

But there are more compelling realities. The tendency towardpsy-
chological collectivization does not have man’s welfare as its end.
It is designed just as well for his exploitation. In today’s world,
psychological collectivization is the sine qua non of technical ac-
tion. Munson says: "By building the morale of the troops, we are
trying to increase their yield, to substitute enthusiastic self-disci-
pline for forced obedience, to stimulate their will and their attention
— in short, we are pursuing success/ There he gives us the key to
this kind of psychological action: the yield is greater when man
acts from consent, rather than constraint. The problem then is to
get the individual’s consent artificially through depth psychology,
since he will not give it of his own free will. But the decision to
give consent must appear to be spontaneous. Anyone who prates
about furnishing man an ideal or a faith to live by is helping to
bring about technique’s ascendency, however much he talks about
"good will.” The "ideal” becomes so through the agency of purely
technical means whose purpose is to enable men to support an in-
supportable situation created within the framework of technical
culture. This attitude is not the antithesis of the humanistic atti-
tude; the two are interwoven and it is completely artificial to try to
separate them.

Human activity in the technical milieu must correspond to this
milieu and also must be collective. It must belong to the order of
the conditioned reflex. Complete human discipline must respond to
technical necessity. And as the technical milieu concerns all men,
no mere handful of them but the totality of society is to be con-
ditioned in this way. The reflex must be a collective one. As Munson
S3 vs: "In peacetime, morale building aims at creating among the
troops that state of mental receptivity which makes them sus-
ceptible to every psychological excitation of wartime/ And this
"receptivity” must also be instilled in every other human group in
the technical culture, and especially in the masses of the workers.

4 1 O ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

Psychological conditioning presupposes collectivity, for masses
of men are more receptive to suggestion than individuals, and, as
we have seen, suggestion is one of the most important weapons in
the psychological arsenal. At the same time, the masses are intoler-
ant and think everything must be black or white. This results from
the moral categories imposed by technique and is possible only
if the masses are of a single mind and if countercurrents are not
permitted to form.

The conditions for psychological efficiency are, first, group inte-
gration and, second, group unanimity. (This should not be taken
to mean that on a larger scale there may not be a certain diversity. )
I am speaking of a determinate group (for example, a political
party, the army, an industrial plant ) which has a definite technical
function to fulfill. The purpose of psychological methods is to
neutralize or eliminate aberrant individuals and tendencies to
fractionation. Simultaneously, the tendency to collectivization is
reinforced in order to “immunize” the environment against any
possible virus of disagreement.

When psychological techniques, in close co-operation with ma-
terial techniques, have at last succeeded in creating unity, all pos-
sible diversity will have disappeared and the human race will have
become a bloc of complete and irrational solidarity.

Total Integration

Until recently, we were obliged to think of man as divided in his
relation to the technical world. One part of him was given over
completely to the monster and subjected to the interior and ex-
terior rules; but the other part he could keep for himself: his inner
life, his family life, his psychic life. He suffered from this division,
but nonetheless he retained a very considerable measure of free-
dom. (When he insisted on retaining too much, he was said to be
suffering from a proportionate lack of social adaptation.) Many
more aspects of the human personality have been exposed to the
technical society, and today very nearly the entire human race is
experiencing this progressive cleavage of personality. The average
man, with his sentimental and intellectual attachments to the past, i

The Technological Society ( 4 1 1

suffers acutely. Rare are the men who have so completely re-
nounced the inner life as to hurl themselves gladly and without
regret into a completely technicized mode of being. Such persons
may exist, but it is probable that the “joyous robot * has not yet
been bora

I have repeated time and again that this tension, this dichotomy, is
harder and harder to bear and begins to appear more and more
baneful in its influence even to the psychologists, sociologists, and
teachers, that is, to the psychotechnicians in general. They want to
restore man’s lost unity, and patch together that which technical
advances have separated. But only one way to accomplish this ever
occurs to them, and that is to use technical means. Since the
human sciences are applications of technical means, this entails
rounding up those elements of the human personality that are
still free and forcing (“reintegrating”) them into the expanding
technical order of things. What yet remains of private life must be
forced into line by invisible techniques, which are also implacable
because they are derived from personal conviction. Reintegration
involves man’s covert spiritual activities as well as his overt actions.
Amusements, friendship, art — all must be compelled toward the
new integration, thanks to which there is to be no more social
maladjustment or neurosis. Man is to be smoothed out, like a pair
of pants under a steam iron.

There is no other way to regroup the elements of the human
personality: the human being must be completely subjected to an
omnipotent technique, and all his acts and thoughts must be the
object of the human techniques. Those men, undoubtedly “men of
good will,” who are so preoccupied with the technical restoration
of man’s lost unity certainly have not willed things as they have
turned out. Their error lies much more in not having clearly seen
genuine alternatives. The conscientious psychologist, sympathetic
though he may be to human suffering, does not even consider al-
ternative solutions to the problem. For him, technique imposes a
technical solution. And this solution indeed restores unity to the
human being, but only by virtue of the total integration of man
into the process which originally produced his dismemberment.
The psychologist sees this dismemberment ( and civilization’s neu-
roses, too) as symptomatic of the incompleteness of the absorptive
process. To achieve unity, then, means to complete the process.

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

41a)

Technical Anesthesia, It seems odd that the application of a tech*
nique designed to liberate men from the machine should end in
subjecting them the more harshly to it But given the technological
state of mind, the paradox is easily explained. Consider a worker
who is subject to a machine and its caprices. He must follow the
machine's tempo and breathe its waste products. At the same time,
he must fight off fatigue and boredom. In short, he must perform
the work of two men. The efficiency expert comes and institutes
procedures to automate actions and save energy by transforming
everything into mechanical reflexes. But the psychologist is dead
set against this; he finds insupportable the total subjection of the
worker to the machine which the efficiency expert has elabo-
rated, and he proposes to liberate him. To accomplish this laudable
end, the psychologist in turn elaborates a science of human be-
havior with its own laws of human psychology; for example, laws
concerning worker fatigue, and so on. He draws up a program not
merely of the worker's actions in the factory, but of his whole life.
The human being ends by being encased in an even broader tech-
nical framework. It will doubtless make life easier and enable him
to work with a minimum of effort, but only on condition that he
follow its rules to the letter. The example is a simple one, but it
can be found in every sphere of human activity, wherever the
psychotechnician has felt himself called upon to '‘liberate’* man-
kind. Progress must obviously be paid for by even harsher subjec-
tion to the instrument of salvation. The worker is in the same
situation as the invalid racked by pain who receives an anodyne
narcotic which makes him an addict — the addiction persists even
after he has been "cured." In much the same way, a nation that has
been subjected to a totalitarian propaganda barrage is unable to
get its bearings in a direct and natural way after the barrage has
ceased; the psychic trauma was too profound. The sole means of
liberating people from "ideas" so inculcated is through another
propaganda campaign at least as intense as the first. But the new
propaganda only subjects them to a psychic pressure that kills a
little more of their freedom.

Consider an inquisitorial and brutal police force that operates
as it pleases and carries out arrests arbitrarily. No citizen has any
peace of mind. Yet the only remedy so far devised for the disease
is the establishment of the hypermodem system of dossiers. Every

The Technological Society ( 4 1 3

citizen is kept track of throughout his life, geographically, bio-
logically, and economically; the police know precisely what he k
up to at every moment. This police system no longer needs to be
brutal, openly inquisitorial, or omnipresent to the public con-
sciousness. But it permeates all of life, in a way the average citizen
finds it impossible to understand. Just what has been gained? Ad-
mittedly, man need no longer be apprehensive at work, or live per-
petually under suspicion, or be afraid of being subjected to the
“third degree."* The terror which until now has been an integral
part of the police methods of totalitarian states is, or soon will be,
a thing of the past. The “terror over the city,** perfectly described
by Cerrado Alvaro, is only a transitory stage. A diffuse terror usu-
ally follows open police raids and public executions. At this stage
the police may be invisible, but they lurk in the shadows. One
hears tales of secret executions in the soundproof cellars of vast,
mysterious buildings. At a still more advanced stage of police
technique, even this diffuse terror gradually dissipates. The police
exist only to protect “good citizens." They no longer carry out
raids and there is nothing mysterious about them; therefore they
are not felt to be oppressive. Police work has become "scientific/*
Their files contain dossiers of every citizen. The police axe in a
position to lay hands on anyone "wanted" at any moment, and this
obviates to a great degree the necessity of doing so. No one can
evade the police or disappear. But, then, no one wants to. An
electronic dossier is not particularly fearsome.

Here we have the essence of the techniques of "humanization"; to
render unnoticeable the disadvantages that other techniques have
created. The task of the technician is to develop machine tech-
niques and human techniques to such a pitch of perfection that
even the man face to face with the perfectly functioning machine
no longer has human initiative or the desire to escape. In a simple
machine, a sticking gear or an overheated rod calls the existence
of the machine to the notice of its vexed user. A lubricating
technique is needed which will make the machine function so
smoothly that its presence is not felt The ability to forget the ma-
chine is the ideal of technical perfection. In the "man-machine"
complex, friction results from the collision between the human
being and the organization. This friction can take a number of
forms. Individual initiative may become irritated by some obvioua

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

414)

mechanical failure; the individual may insist on operating the ma-
chine in a manner not provided for in the rules of automatism.
The problem then is twofold: to perfect mechanical techniques, on
the one hand, and to invent and impose certain human techniques,
on the other, so as to obviate the human sources of friction. As
Latil has pointed out, self-guiding techniques that operate with-
out any external interference are possible. This has been demon-
strated by machines that are autonomous, have a memory, and
anticipate future events. Skeptics of the kind who denied a priori
the possibility of heavier-than-air machines will deride this as
mere imagination. It is true that such machines have not yet been
perfected, but even an approximation in this direction would suf-
fice for our argument

The technical society must perfect the “man-machine” complex
or risk total collapse. Is there any other way out? I am convinced
that there is. Unfortunately, I am also compelled to note that
neither the scientists nor the technicians want any part of any other
solution. And since I work with realities and not with abstractions,
I recognize the inevitability of the fact that technical difficulties de-
mand technical solutions. All the troubles provok/ed by the en-
counter between man and technique are of a technical order, and
therefore no one dreams of applying nontechnical remedies. Men
distrust them. A. Sargent well expresses the common opinion:

Humanity is still captive of a metaphysical and dogmatic men-
tality at a time when experimental science (technique) could be-
yond any doubt allow them to solve their principal difficulties.
We are still half buried in scholasticism at a time when biology
is in a position to be our salvation . . . Our dogmatisms have well
shown their mischievousness ... It is therefore indispensable
henceforth to resist the seductions of systems based on metaphysics
and to face up to the one reality which we can understand and
which concerns us . . . The life-sciences bring together certain
means of knowledge and action. All doctrines which draw their
inspiration from abstract conceptions have already betrayed their
fundamental incapacity to organize the human world. Biocracy,
that is, organization in accordance with the basic laws of life,
represents our only chance of salvation at a moment of our devel-
opment in which the various metaphysics and systems left over
from archaic cultures still corrupt human life.

The Technological Society (4x5

Sargent’s position is clear. What is catastrophic in our situation is
the survival of philosophies, political doctrines, and religion. (Iam
unable, incidentally, to believe them so powerful!) As to tech-
nique, it is completely innocent of the imminent catastrophes. De-
spite exaggerations, the text is clear: no other solution is possible,
no other hope, than that represented by the improvement of human
techniques. Every other solution is either inefficient or mis-
chievous,

Sargent's attitude is representative of that of the majority of
technicians. We have already examined the kind of future it holds
in store for us.

Integration of the Instincts and of the Spiritual. We shall now
take up perhaps the most difficult technical phenomena to grasp,
inasmuch as they do not concern human techniques directly, but
rather certain of their results.

It is often objected that skeptics fail to understand the nature
of technical society because they are unwilling or unable to accept
the extraordinary power of spiritual resistance to technical inva-
sion of which human beings are capable. Everywhere, it is said,
human liberty affirms itself in a world that the skeptics have de-
clared closed to it. In proof of this, literary and musical forms are
invoked like magical incantations. Abstract painting, surrealism,
jazz; ethical forms such as “eroticism” and the “politics of engage-
ment” are said to be manifestations of the supremacy of human
freedom and will in the technical society. No one, of course, seeks
to deny that these phenomena are immediately related to the tech-
nicity of the present; the question is how they are to be interpreted.
It is true that man has psychic power, the strength of which is not
yet known Man is capable of outbursts of passion and violence. It
does not seem that those sources of vital energy which might be
summarized as sexuality, spirituality, and capacity for feeling have
been impaired.

But every time these forces attempt to assert themselves, they
are flung against a ring of iron with which technique surrounds
and localizes them. Moreover, technique attacks man, impairs the
sources of his vitality, and takes away his mystery. We have seen
that one of the objectives of certain human techniques is to rob
him of this mystery. And men must and do react instinctively and
spiritually to the aggression of technique. When Henry Miller ut-

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

4 l6)

ter s his anguished wail against the modem world, he is appealing
through his fundamental eroticism to man's most primitive in-
stincts. When the American Negro was still a slave, jazz meant
release from despair and chains. But it is questionable that eroti-
cism and jazz really represent a purposive reaction to technical
aggression. We cannot settle these problems by appealing to a
purely verbal idealism.

Jazz is one of today's most authentically human protests. Let us
trace it back to its origin. The Negroes were hopelessly enslaved.
The story of their toil, punishments, hate, and crushed rebellions
has been often told. The terrible black emperor of Santo Domingo
was now no more than a dream. In their extremity the Negroes
discovered song, which likewise answered the needs of faith.
Music expressed for them at once the despair of the present and
the hope for salvation in Christ. Its culmination in delirium
brought deliverance, but only as opium and alcohol did for others.
Marx's celebrated remark that nineteenth-century religion was the
opiate of the European masses is equally applicable to the jazz of
the Negro slaves. In jazz they created a true art form. But with it
they also shut every door to freedom. Jazz imprisoned the Negroes
more and more in their slavery; from then on, they drew a morose
relish from it It is highly significant that this slave music has
become the music of the modem world.

All instincts seem more unbridled today than ever before — sex;
passion for nature, the mountains, and the sea; passion for social
and political action. There cannot have been many historical pe-
riods in which these forces were so evident or so authoritative.
Again, I have no wish to deny whatever validity they possess. It is
good for city dwellers to go to the country. It is good that a marked
eroticism is wrecking the sclerotic traditional morality. It is well
that poetry, thanks to such movements as surrealism, has become
really expressive once more. But these phenomena, whjch express
the deepest instinctive human passions, have also become totally
innocuous. They question nothing, menace nobody. Behemoth 1
can rest easy; neither Henry Miller's eroticism nor.Andr^ Bretons
surrealism will prevent him from consuming mankind. Such move-

* Behemoth ( Hebrew; plural of majesty ) designates matter organized, glorified, and
set in motion.

The Technological Society ( 4 1 7

merits are pure formalisms, pure verbalisms. No one has ever car-
ried out the famous "pure surrealist act." And as for the self-styled
revolution in ethics of Miller and the “black novels** of Boris Vian
and others, all they amount to for the noinial man is an invitation
to a brothel (something which has never passed for revolutionary
or as an affirmation of freedom). It is harmless to attack a crum-
bling middle-class morality. True, persecutions, seizures, and law-
suits have been directed against the “black" authors. But I would
like to point to the tidy profits that such minor scandals have
brought them. I am somehow unable to believe in the revolutionary
value of an act which makes the cash register jingle so merrily.

For a like reason, the “politics of engagement" are vitiated. The
monolithic political parties consist of the fossilized rank and file
(who can scarcely be thought to be manifesting any particular
activity or to be striking a blow for freedom merely because the
hearse which is transporting them is rolling along at a clip) and of
party intellectuals and directors who are out after votes and
money. It is as though a winner of the National Lottery could pass
for a martyr.

Then there is the modern passion for nature. When it is not
stockbrokers out after moose, it is a crowd of brainless confonnists
camping out on order and as they are told. Nowhere is there any
initiative or eccentricity.

In sum, the supreme forces of human nature are set into motion
for the sake of amusement. The great bell in the cathedral tower,
formerly rung to call the city’s warriors to arms, is sounded to
amuse foreign tourists. At this point I shall not make a lengthy
analysis of the social forces we have been speaking of.* It is
enough to indicate the contrast between the powers aroused and
the ghastly mediocrity of the end products; between the preten-
sions of Andr6 Breton, for example, and the results. What has hap-
pened to the deepest human passions stems from many different
causes. The only one of concern to us here is the fact that these
spiritual movements are totally confined within a technical world.
Here is yet another example of the phenomenon described at
length in the second chapter, that technique encompasses the

* I have studied these central problems in n series of articles entitled "Conformism

de notre temps," Rdforme, 1949.

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

418)

totality of present-day society. Man is caught like a fly in a bottle.
His attempts at culture, freedom, and creative endeavor have be-
come mere entries in technique's filing cabinet.

The Final Resolution . A precise question is posed; Into what has
technique transformed man’s efforts toward the spiritual?

One answer to this question is that technique possesses mo-
nopoly of action. No human activity is possible except as it is
mediated and censored by the technical medium. This is the great
law of the technical society. Thought or will can only be realized
by borrowing from technique its modes of expression. Not even the
simplest initiative can have an original, independent existence.

Suppose one were to write a revolutionary book. If it is to be
published, it must enter into the framework of the technical or-
ganization of book publishing. In a predominantly capitalistic
technical culture, the book can be published only if it can return
a profit. Thus, it must appeal to some public and hence must re-
frain from attacking the real taboos of the public for which it is
destined. The bourgeois publishing house will not publish Lenin;
the “revolutionary” publishing house will not publish Paul Bourget;
and no one will publish a book attacking the real religion of our
times, by which I mean the dominant social forces of the techno-
logical society. Any author who seeks to have his manuscript pub-
lished must make it conform to certain lines laid down by the po-
tential publishers. A manuscript which in subject matter and for-
mat does not conform has no chance. This is the situation at the
most elementary level of the technical publishing organization. One
step further and we encounter the notorious system of the “re-
write.”

If the publishing system is state-owned, the publication of revo-
lutionary literature cannot even be considered. All this amounts to
saying that technical forces, which were put into operation ostensi-
bly for the diffusion of thought, lead in practice to its emasculation.
The same holds true for broadcasting under private capitalism or
under state ownership. It is impossible to agree with the ideologues
who assert that capitalism is synonymous with freedom of broad-
casting 4 or with those who assert that state ownership means
humanization.

4 M. Veilte’s analysis of this point is convincing. See his La Radio et les hommes
(Paris: Editions de Minuit; 1951).

The Technological Society ( 4 1 9

Of course, we can write or teach anything, including por-
nography, inflammatory revolutionary manifestoes, and new eco-
nomic and political doctrines. But as soon as any of these appear
to have any real effect in subverting the universal social order
(which is establishing itself in every country of the world with the
support of the overwhelming majority of the respective popula-
tions), they are forthwith excluded from the technical channels of
communication. As Crozier justly remarks: "The intellectual has a
difficult life. He can only live by communicating, but he has been
deprived of the means without which he cannot communicate."
The intellectual has become a mere mouthpiece subject to the de-
mands of the various techniques. According to Wiener, this is the
cause of the progressive sterilization of intellectual life in the
modem world. As Wiener puts it, present-day methods of com-
munication exclude all intellectual activity except what is so con-
ventional that it has no decisive value.

In the same way technique controls the nascent love of nature.
The lone city dweller on a camping trip escapes his technical fate
momentarily. But suppose that the solitary camper swells to a
throng, overflows the countryside, sets the woods on fire, and
commits other nuisances? Suppose he disturbs the "paying" guests?
or trespasses on private property and hunting preserves? The pub-
lic interest is then involved and technique intervenes, as it in-
variably does where large numbers of men are concerned. (In-
versely, technique is creating a culture in which if large numbers
are not involved, there is nothing at all.) Intervention then takes
the form of an administrative police technique. Obligatory camp
sites are established, complete with regulations. The camper is
forced to carry a license, and the erstwhile act of free individual
decision becomes a purely technical matter.

When an individual engages in political action a corresponding
technical mechanism is set in motion. Political action is no longer
possible except as a mass phenomenon, and "engagement" pre-
supposes participation in a collectivity. Only a collectivity is
wealthy enough to have at its disposal the means to “play politics."
Only a collectivity can make itself felt in a world in which tech-
nique has given primacy to the quantitative rather than the qualita-
tive. Since an inorganic mass would be inefficient, the collectivity
must be optimally organized, with all that this implies in the way

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

420)

of unity, discipline, and tactical flexibility. These are the exclusive
province of technical organization, a fact which straightway leads
to the formation of monolithic political parties, which alone can
hope for success. Once again technique imposes its iron law on the
generous strivings of the individual heart.

These brief examples, taken from as diverse spheres as possible,
make it evident that today every human initiative must use techni-
cal means to express itself. These technical means ipso facto
“censor” initiative. First, they screen out whatever does not lend
itself to technical expression; initiative remains a purely private
matter, with no importance to the technical society. Second, they
compel a rigid conformism; initiative is reduced to the lowest com-
mon denominator and is, in effect, emasculated. The interplay of
the technical censorship with the pretended “anarchic” spiritual
initiatives of the individual automatically produces the situation
desired by Dr. Goebbels in his formulation of the great law of the
technical society: “You are at liberty to seek your salvation as you
understand it, provided you do nothing to change the social order ”
All technicians without exception are agreed on this dictum. It is
understood, of course, that the social order is everywhere essen-
tially identical: the variation from democracy to Communism to
Fascism represents a merely superficial phenomenon.

A second answer to our question of how technique has trans-
formed man's quest for the spiritual involves an examination of the
fate of the ecstatic * impulses and phenomena of the human spirit

It is not difficult to observe that ecstatic phenomena proliferate
in proportion to the technicization of society. They play an impor-
tant role in modern society, but not the role usually assigned them.
They function not as causes but as effects. It is childish to believe
that Communism and Fascism, for example, created a mystique
out of whole cloth, which they then imposed on their peoples; that
they have blown up a vast bag of wind with which they “seduce”
or “delude” the world. On the other hand, it is too easy to say that
the Russian soul and the German soul were naturally “predisposed”
to these systems. We would then have to hold that the Italian ( and

* In what follows, the word ecstasy is used in its original Greek sense to denote a
mental state transported out of its usual condition. The word denotes anarchic and
antisocial tendencies as well as the more pleasant transports we usually associate
with it. it is the ground of war as well as of religion. ( Trans. )

The T echnological Society (421

now the Yugoslav and Chinese) souls, are similarly predisposed.
The myth presupposes a psychological basis — that people adhere
to systems because these systems respond to something “true’* in
them. But this truth is certainly not very specific since very dif-
ferent sorts of people adhere to it. Further, mystic systems are not
arbitrary creations of dictatorial regimes. No more are they the
result of the demented will to power of the mighty. No “popular
movement” can produce them; the requirements far exceed the
spontaneous mystic capabilities of man. The real reason for the
emergence of society as we know it is not mystic or psychic but
technical.

It is nevertheless true that ecstatic phenomena are'found today
in the societies that have as their avowed aim the maximal exploita-
tion of technique. Ecstasy occurs here, however, not as a cause
but as a result of the technical society. More specifically, it is a
function of the acceleration of the tempo of the technical society,*
rather than of the technical level of the society.

For a long time it was believed that technique would yield a har-
monious society, a society in equilibrium, happy and without spe-
cial problems. This society would resign itself to an easy life of
production and consumption based on an untroubled commercial
ideology. This model of bourgeois tranquillity seemed to corre-
spond exactly to the preoccupations of technology. The summum
bonum was comfort, and the ideal type was capitalist Switzerland
or socialist Sweden. The sudden plunge of the technically most
advanced societies into war and mutual destruction was a rude
awakening for the bourgeoisie. An aberration? Scarcely. It had
been forgotten that technique means not comfort but power. The
bourgeois countries had developed their technical systems at a
comfortable pace, until these systems had fully exploited their pos-
sibilities of orderly growth. Then technology, with its accelerated
tempo, took over. The smaller nations were unable to keep up.
And the great technical countries had- willy-nilly to abandon their

•Ellul anticipates here a recent preoccupation of so-called “general system theory,"
according to which social and psychological phenomena depend for their specific
results on the acceleration of linear systems ana not upon their position or velocities.
The latter is usually a condition of equilibrium; the former seldom is. Thus, to give
a trivial example, it is not the absolute value of the world’s population at any
moment which threatens social dissolution, but the rate at which it is increasing,
especially if the rate of increase is itself increasing. (Tram.)

422 ) HUMAN TECHNIQUES

languid pace and accommodate themselves to the real tempo of
the technical society. The result was that disproportion between
the leisurely bourgeois mentality and the explosive tempo of tech-
nique to which we give the name war. A by-product of this ecstasy
was a certain mystique. The American myth was bom, presenting
exactly the same religious traits as the Nazi or Communist myth.
But it is different, as we have often noted, in that it still is in a
spontaneous phase; it is not yet organized, utilized, and developed
technically.

Whatever the actual technical level of the country, as soon as
technical acceleration appears, the mystique appears too. Even
technically backward societies experience it as soon as they decide
to adopt modern techniques. So do such societies as the Nazi or the
Communist when they take up and adapt to their system whatever
is new. The more languid social groups, such as Switzerland or
France, which cannot or will not submit to technical acceleration,
do not manifest these phenomena. 1

A nation which has reached a pitch of perfection in its technical
organization sometimes feels this perfection to be intolerable. Suqh
a factor was probably the cause of the astonishing ecstasy of *com-
bativity without object” which erupted in Sweden in December
1956. In a too-perfect universe the human being has no adequate
way of releasing the deepest impulses of human nature. These ob-
scure forces are always there, and tend to emerge to the degree
that perfect technical constraint has not yet been fully achieved.

These observations confirm Roger Caillois’s statement that the
more restrictive the social mechanism, the more exaggerated are
the associated ecstatic phenomena. The restrictions imposed by
technique on a society reduce the number of ways in which re-
ligious energy can be released. In a nontechnical society there are a
plurality of ways in which psychic energy can be channeled; but
in a technical society there is only one. Technical restrictions elimi-
nate all secondary objects. Human psychic energies concentrate,
and there are no “leaks.” The result is ecstatic phenomena of un-
paralleled intensity and duration.

In today’s technical society, magical and mystical tendencies
which traditionally were in opposition are all mutually satisfied by

r Since 1958 France has experienced "both rebirth of technical progress and a
nationalistic mystique.

The Technological Society (4*3

technique and hence majle one. Technique fully satisfies the mystic
will to possess and dominate. It is unnecessary to evoke spiritual
powers when machines give much better results. But technique
also encourages and develops mystical phenomena. It promotes the
indispensable alienation from the self necessary, for example, for
the identification of the individual with an ideology. Whether man
identifies with a father figure or with an abstraction, this identifica-
tion is incited by the recognition of an exceptional charismatic
quality. This quality, integrated into the technical society, takes
from it a compelling intensity it did not have before. It also takes
on a mechanical character. The ecstatic phenomenon, organized,
centralized, and diffused by technique, can only relate to a mecha-
nized charism which is capable of this relation. This charismatic
endowment has traditionally been an attribute of heroes, but today
it is the ‘"heroes of labor** who are so endowed.

We must conclude that it is far from accidental that ecstatic phe-
nomena have developed to the greatest degree in the most techni-
cized societies. And it is to be expected that these phenomena will
continue to increase. This indicates nothing less than the subjec-
tion of mankind's new religious life to technique. It was formerly
believed that technique and religion were in opposition and repre-
sented two totally different dispensations. It was held that, with
the development of a purely materialistic society, a struggle was
inevitable between the machine and the economy, on the one side,
and the ideal realm of religion, art, and culture, on the other. But
we can no longer hold such a boundlessly simplistic view. Ecstasy
is subject to the world of technique and is its servant. Technique,
on the most significant level, integrates the anarchic and antisocial
impulses of the human being into society. These impulses take their
influence and receive their diffusion strictly by virtue of the techni-
cal means brought into play. The ecstatic phenomena of the human
psyche, which without technical means would have remained
completely without effect, are deployed throughout the world.

Technical means, acting on the ecstatic phenomena, encourage
certain daring innovations of expression. Consider, for example, the
extraordinary artistic novelty of the cinema. But it must be re-
membered that the technical fact ipso facto entails the total in-
clusion of art and thought (however revolutionary they seem)
within the social framework. Human impulses are confined within

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

4 * 4 )

well-defined limits, and become the objects of propaganda, profit-
seeking, contractual obligations, and the like. The vast extent of
the technical apparatus makes the “payoff* inevitably the primary
consideration, in money in the capitalist world, in power and au-
thority in the Communist world. Technique as a means, however,
encourages and enables the individual to express his ecstatic reac-
tions in a way never before possible. He can express criticism of
his culture, and even loathing. He is permitted to propose the mad-
dest solutions. The great law here is that all things are necessary to
make a society and that even revolt is necessary to make a techni-
cal society. I believe that this is no exaggeration. Revolt is con-
sciously organized in the Soviet Union, for example, in Krokodll ,
the journal officially devoted to criticism of Soviet polity and ad-
ministration. The expression of criticism is permitted because its
repression would be even more catastrophic. But it is permitted
Only on condition that it entail no serious consequences, or, better
put, so that no serious consequences to the power of the state can
result. The technical apparatus, in fact, assures this by confining
the most violent explosions of human ecstasy within itself and by
satisfying without danger and at small cost to itself certain spiritual
needs of the citizen reader. It must not be supposed that there is
any danger of the reader becoming a partisan of an author. Sartre
complains that he has readers but no public. He gives certain com-
plex reasons for this, and some of them may even be true. But he
does not see (or perhaps refuses to see) that the technical condi-
tions of publishing necessarily entail such a result. Sartre, ot course,
is not alone. What he complains of represents a long tradition.
Technique, which transforms culture into luxury, puts so- many
cultural modalities at the reader’s disposal that none of them has
any more importance than any other; the customer becomes a
butterfly dipping into whatever flower he chooses. Sartre repre-
sents one ten-thousandth of French authorship, and he reaches
twenty thousand readers. Not bad. But in the circumstances it is
difficult to have a genuine community of readers. (I take it that
the cellars of the Left Bank do not constitute the public Sartre
dreams of.) Technique erects a screen between the author and his
readers. Miniature fireworks issue from the magic bottle, but not
revolt, A few printed pages out of the deluge of printed matter
will never make the butterfly a revolutionary.

The Technological Society (425

The complete separation of thought and action effected by
technique produces in a new guise a phenomenon which we have
already discussed as it appears in other areas: the lack of spiritual
efficacy of even the best ideas, The very assimilation of ideas into
the technical framework which renders them materially effective
makes them spiritually worthless. This does not mean that ideas
have no worthwhile effect on the public at all. They have a great
effect, but not the effect their creators intended. Henry Miller's
erotic petard, launched onto society like a plastic bomb, finds a
reader whose sexual life is thwarted, who is upset by the conditions
of his work, his lodgings, his political life. This has created in him
a thirst for revolt. And he finds his thirst powerfully and well ex-
pressed by Miller. The pornographic element unfetters his imagina-
tion and plunges him into an erotic delirium that can satisfy his
contracted needs. But Miller's book, far from pushing a man to
revolt, vicariously satisfies the potential revolutionary, just as the
sexual act itself stills sexual desire, or jazz soothes the Negroes*
bitter longing for freedom. We have noted that jazz has become
universal. The reason is now clear: it is the music of men who are
satisfied with the illusion of freedom provoked by its sounds, while
the chains of iron wind round them ever tighter. The same mecha-
nism is at work on the reader of Krokodil Seeing his discontent
expressed far better than he could express it himself, he is satisfied
vicariously with an official revolt and ceases to criticize ... at
least for a while — but by then he will have received the next issue.

As a result of technique, these vicarious remedies are not local
but universal phenomena. Technique diffuses the revolt of the
few and thus appeases the need of the millions for revolt. The same
could be said of all the "movements** started since the turn of the
century in response to the frustration of the most elementary hu-
man impulses. But can it be maintained, therefore, that social
movements such as surrealism, youth hostels, revolutionary politi-
cal parties, anarchism, and so on, have failed? They have failed in
that they have not achieved their own goals of re-creating the
conditions of freedom and justice or of allowing man to rediscover
a genuine sex life or intellectual life. But they have been com-
pletely successful from another point of view. They have per-
formed the sociological function of integration. Technical means
are so important, so difficult to achieve and to manage, that it is

HUMAN TECHNIQUES

426)

easier to have them if there is a group, a movement, an association.
Such movements are based on authentic impulses and valid feel-
ings, and do allow a few individuals access to modes of expression
which otherwise would have been closed to them. But their es-
sential function is to act as vicarious intermediaries to integrate
into the technical society these same impulses and feelings which
are possessed by millions of other men. Herein lies their Sociologi-
cal character. Certain deep ecstatic instincts and impulses would
otherwise escape the jurisdiction of the technical society and be-
come a threat to it. Movements such as today's existentialism, or
eroticism in the form of a renovated Marquis de Sade or of the
little pornographic reviews, are a sociological necessity to a techni-
cal milieu. The basic human impulses are unpredictable in their
complex social consequences. But thanks to “movements" which
integrate and control them, they are powerless to harm the techni-
cal society, of which henceforth they form an integral part. These
movements perform a well-defined but completely involuntary
function. Their operations are effected independently of will or
desire. And no one has calculated their effects in advance. Andr6
Breton and Henry Miller are innocent of the sociological function
they have assumed. One can reproach them only for a fearful
lack of clarity as to their position and function in the technical
society.

All revolutionary movements are burlesques of the real thing, but
this must not be imputed to the activities of Machiavellian wire-
pullers, The phenomenon appears naturally in the interaction of
human techniques with social movements that seek to express basic
human instincts. Our analysis could be repeated for pacifism, Com-
munism, and all the multifarious movements designed to secure
peace or social justice. They all fall into the same pattern and
fulfill the same function. Some are indeed more authentic and
"truer" than others because they better express human revolt; they
are more successful in pulling the teeth of aggressive instincts and
in integrating them into the technical society. ( If I have not men-
tioned religions, it is because they no longer express revolt; they
have long since, in their intellectual and sociological forms, under-
gone integration. )

With the final integration of the instinctive and the spiritual by
means of these human techniques, the edifice of the technical so-

The Technological Society (4*7

ciety will be completed. It will not be a universal concentration
camp, for it will be guilty of no atrocity. It will not seem insane,
for everything will be ordered, and the stains of human passion
will be lost amid the chromium gleam. We shall have nothing more
to lose, and nothing to win. Our deepest instincts and our most
secret passions will be analyzed, published, and exploited. We
shall be rewarded with everything our hearts ever desired. And
the supreme luxury of the society of technical necessity will be to
grant the bonus of useless revolt and of an acquiescent smile.

CHAPTER

CO

A LOOK AT
THE FUTURE

We have completed our examination of the monolithic technical
world that is coming to be. It is vanity to pretend it can be checked
or guided. Indeed, the human race is beginning confusedly to
understand at last that it is living in 2 new and unfamiliar universe.
The new order was meant to be a buffer between man and nature.
Unfortunately, it has evolved autonomously in such a way that
man has lost all contact with his natural framework and has to do
only with the organized technical intermediary which sustains
relations both with the world of life and with the world of brute
matter. Enclosed within his artificial creation, man finds that there
is "no exit"; that he cannot pierce the shell of technology to find
again the ancient milieu to which he was adapted for hundreds of
thousands of years.

The new milieu has its own specific laws which are not the laws
of organic or inorganic matter. Man is still ignorant of these laws.
It nevertheless begins to appear with crushing finality that a new
necessity is taking over from the old. It is easy to boast of victory
over ancient oppression, but what if victory has been gained at

The Technological Society (4*9

the price of an even greater subjection to the forces of the artificial
necessity of the technical society which has come to dominate our
lives?

In our cities there is no more day or night or heat or cold. But
there is overpopulation, thraldom to press and television, total ab-
sence of purpose. All men are constrained by means external to
them to ends equally external. The further the technical mechanism
develops which allows us to escape natural necessity, the more we
are subjected to artificial technical necessities. (I have analyzed
human victory over hunger in this vein.) The artificial necessity
of technique is not less harsh and implacable for being much less
obviously menacing than natural necessity. When the Communists
claim that they place the development of the technical society in a
historical framework that automatically leads to freedom through
the medium of the dialectical process; when Humanists such as
Bergson, or Catholics such as Mounier, assert that man must re-
gain control over the technical “means* by an additional quantity
of soul, all of them alike show both their ignorance of the technical
phenomenon and an impenitent idealism that unfortunately bears
no relation to truth or reality.

Alongside these parades of mere verbalisms, there has been a
real effort, on the part of the technicians themselves, to control the
future of technical evolution. The principle here is the old one we
have so often encountered: “A technical problem demands a tech-
nical solution." At present, there are two kinds of new techniques
which the technicians propose as solutions.

The first solution hinges on the creation of new technical instru-
ments able to mediate between man and his new technical milieu.
Robert Jungk, for example, in connection with the fact that man
is not completely adaptable to the demands of the technical age,
writes that "it is impossible to create interstellar man out of the
existing prime matter; auxiliary technical instruments and appa-
ratus must compensate for his insufficiencies." The best and most
striking example of such subsidiary instruments is furnished by the
complex of so-called “thinking machines," which certainly belong
to a very different category of techniques than those that have
been applied up to now. But the whole ensemble of means de-
signed to permit human mastery of what were means and have now
become milieu are techniques of the second degree, and nothing

A LOOK AT THE FUTURE

430)

more. Pierre de Latil, in his La PensSe artificielle , gives an ex-
cellent characterization of some of these machines of the second
degree:

“In the machine, the notion of finality makes its appearance, a
notion sometimes attributed in living beings to some intelligence
inherent in the species, innate to life itself. Finality is artificially
built into the machine and regulates it, an effect requiring that
some factor be modified or reinforced so that the effect itself does
not disturb the equilibrium . . . Errors are corrected without hu-
man analysis, or knowledge, without even being suspected. The
error itself corrects the error. A deviation from the prescribed track
itself enables the automatic pilot to rectify the deviation . . .For
the machine, as for animals, error is fruitful; it conditions the cor-
rect path.*

The second solution revolves about the effort to discover (or re-
discover) a new end for human society in the technical age. The
aims of technology, which were clear enough a century and a half
ago, have gradually disappeared from view. Humanity seems to
have forgotten the wherefore of all its travail, as though its goals
had been translated into an abstraction or had become implicit;
or as though its ends rested in an unforeseeable future of unde-
termined date, as in the case of Communist society. Everything
today seems to happen as though ends disappear, as a result of
the magnitude of the very means at our disposal.

Comprehending that the proliferation of mean? bring? thp
disappearance of the ends, we have become preoccupied with re-
discovering a purpose or a goaL Some optimists of good will assert
that they have rediscovered a Humanism to which the technical
movement is subordinated. The orientation of this Hiunanism may
be Communist or non-Communist, but it hardly makes any dif-
ference. In both cases it is merely a pious hope with no chance
whatsoever of influencing technical evolution. The further we ad-
vance, the more the purpose of our techniques fades out of sight
Even things which not long ago seemed to be immediate objectives
— rising living standards, hygiene, comfort — no longer seem to have
that character, possibly because man finds the endless adaptation
to new circumstances disagreeable. In many cases, indeed, a
higher technique obliges him to sacrifice comfort and hygienic
amenities to the evolving technology which possesses a monopoly

The Tech nological Society ( 4 3 1

of the instruments necessary to satisfy them. Extreme examples are
furnished by the scientists isolated at Los Alamos in the middle of
the desert because of the danger of their experiments; or by the
would-be astronauts who are forced to live in the discomfort of
experimental camps in the manner so graphically described by
Jungk.

But the optimistic technician is not a man to lose heart If ends
and goals are required, he will find them in a finality which can be
imposed on technical evolution precisely because this finality can
be technically established and calculated. It seems clear that there
must be some common measure between the means and the ends
subordinated to it The required solution, then, must be a technical
inquiry into ends, and this alone can bring about a systematization
of ends and means. The problem becomes that of analyzing indi-
vidual and social requirements technically, of establishing, numeri-
cally and mechanistically, the constancy of human needs. It fol-
lows that a complete knowledge of ends is requisite for mastery of
means. But, as Jacques Aventur has demonstrated, such knowledge
can only be technical knowledge. Alas, the panacea of merely
theoretical humanism is as vain as any other. 1

“Man, in his biological reality, must remain the sole possible
reference point for classifying needs,” writes Aventur. Aventur’s
dictum must be extended to include man's psychology and soci-
ology, since these have also been reduced to mathematical calcu-
lation. Technology cannot put up with intuitions and “literature.”
It must necessarily don mathematical vestments. Everything in
human life that does not lend itself to mathematical treatment must
be excluded — because it is not a possible end for technique — and
left to the sphere of dreams.

Who is too blind to see that a profound mutation is being ad-
vocated here? A new dismembering and a complete reconstitution
of the human being so that he can at last become the objective
(and also the total object) of techniques. Excluding all but the
mathematical element, he is indeed a fit end for the means he has

1 It must be clear that the ends sought cannot be determined by moral science. The
dubiousness of ethical judgments, and the differences between systems, make moral
science unfit for establishing these ends. But, above all, its subjectivity is a fatal
blemish. It depends essentially on the refinement of the individual moral conscience.
An average morality is ceaselessly confronted with excessive demands with which
it cannot comply. Technical modalities cannot tolerate subjectivity.

A LOOK AT THE FUTURE

43 *)

constructed. He is also completely despoiled of everything that
traditionally constituted his essence. Man becomes a pure appear-
ance, a kaleidoscope of external shapes, an abstraction in a milieu
that is frighteningly concrete — an abstraction armed with all the
sovereign signs of Jupiter the Thunderer.

A Look at the Year 2000. In i960 the weekly TExpress of Paris
published a series of extracts from texts by American and Rus-
sian scientists concerning society in the year 2000. As long as such
visions were purely a literary concern of science-fiction writers and
sensational journalists, it was possible to smile at them.* Now we
have like works from Nobel Prize winners, members of the
Academy of Sciences of Moscow, and other scientific notables
whose qualifications are beyond dispute. The visions of these
gentlemen put science fiction in the shade. By the year 2000, voy-
ages to the moon will be commonplace; so will inhabited artificial
satellites. All food will be completely synthetic. The world’s popu-
lation will have increased fourfold but will have been stabilized.
Sea water and ordinary rocks will yield all the necessary metals.
Disease, as well as famine, will have been eliminated; and there
will be universal hygienic inspection and control. The problems of
energy production will have been completely resolved. Serious
scientists, it must be repeated, are the source of these predictions,
which hitherto were found only in philosophic utopias.

The most remarkable predictions concern the transformation of
educational methods and the problem of human reproduction.
Knowledge will be accumulated in "electronic banks* and trans-
mitted directly to the human nervous system by means of coded
electronic messages. There will no longer be any need of reading
or learning mountains of useless information; everything will be
received and registered according to the needs of the moment.
There will be no need of attention or effort. What is needed will
pass directly from the machine to the brain without going through
consciousness.

In the domain of genetics, natural reproduction will be forbidden.
A stable population will be necessary, and it will consist of the
highest human types. Artificial insemination will be employed.
This, according to Muller, will "permit the introduction into a car-

1 Some excellent work*, such u Robert Jungk * Le Tutor 0 d 4 f& commend, were
included in thii classification.

The T echnological Society ( 4 33

rier uterus of an ovum fertilized vitro , ovum and sperm . . .

having been taken from persons representing the masculine ideal
and the feminine ideal, respectively. The reproductive cells in
question will preferably be those of persons dead long enough
that a true perspective of their lives and works, free of all personal
prejudice, can be seen. Such cells will be taken from cell banks
and will represent the most precious genetic heritage of hu-
manity , . * The method will have to be applied universally. If
the people of a single country were to apply it intelligently and
intensively . • , they would quickly attain a practically invincible
level of superiority . . Here is a future Huxley never dreamed of.

Perhaps, instead of marveling or being shocked, we ought to
reflect a little. A question no one ever asks when confronted with
the scientific wonders of the future concerns the interim period.
Consider, for example, the problems of automation, which will
become acute in a very short time. How, socially, politically, mor-
ally, and humanly, shall we contrive to get there? How are the
prodigious economic problems, for example, of unemployment, to be
solved? And, in Muller's more distant utopia, how shall we force
humanity to refrain from begetting children naturally? How shall
we force them to submit to constant and rigorous hygienic con-
trols? How shall man be persuaded to accept a radical transforma-
tion of his traditional modes of nutrition? How and where shall
we relocate a billion and a half persons who today make their
livings from agriculture and who, in the promised ultrarapid con-
version of the next forty years, will become completely useless as
cultivators of the soil? How shall we distribute such numbers of
people equably over the surface of the earth, particularly if the
promised fourfold increase in population materializes? How will
we handle the control and occupation of outer space in order to
provide a stable modus vivendi? How shall national boundaries be
made to disappear? (One of the last two would be a necessity.)
There are many other "hows," but they are conveniently left unfor-
mulated. When we reflect on the serious although relatively minor
problems that were provoked by the industrial exploitation of coal
and electricity, when we reflect that after a hundred and fifty years
these problems are still not satisfactorily resolved, we are entitled
to ask whether there are any solutions to the infinitely more com-
plex "hows’* of the next forty years. In fact, there is one and only

A LOOK AT THE FUTURE

434 )

one means to their solution, a world-wide totalitarian dictatorship
which will allow technique its full scope and at the same time re-
solve the concomitant difficulties. It is not difficult to understand
why the scientists and worshippers of technology prefer not to
dwell on this solution, but rather to leap nimbly across the dull and
uninteresting intermediary period and land squarely in the golden
age. We might indeed ask ourselves if we will succeed in getting
through the transition period at all, or if the blood and the suffer-
ing required are not perhaps too high a price to pay for this
golden age.

If we take a hard, unromantic look at the golden age itself, we
are struck with the incredible naivete of these scientists. They say,
for example, that they will be able to shape and reshape at will
human emotions, desires, and thoughts and arrive scientifically at
certain efficient, pre-established collective decisions. They claim
they will be in a position to develop certain collective desires, to
constitute certain homogeneous social units out of aggregates of
individuals, to forbid men to raise their children, and even to
persuade them to renounce having any. At the same time, they
speak of assuring the triumph of freedom and of the necessity of
avoiding dictatorship at any price.* They seem incapable of grasp-
ing the contradiction involved, or of understanding that what
they are proposing, even after the intermediary period, is in fact
the harshest of dictatorships. In comparison, Hitler’s was a trifling
affair. That it is to be a dictatorship of test tubes rather than of
hobnailed boots will not make it any less a dictatorship.

When our savants characterize their golden age in any but scien-
tific terms, they emit a quantity of down-at-the-heel platitudes that
would gladden the heart of the pettiest politician. Let’s take a few
samples. “To render human nature nobler, more beautiful, and
more harmonious.” What on earth can this mean? What criteria,
what content, do they propose? Not many, I fear, would be able
to reply. “To assure the triumph of peace, liberty, and reason,”
Fine words with no substance behind them. ‘‘To eliminate cultural
lag ” What culture? And would the culture they have in mind be
able to subsist in this harsh social organization? “To conquer outer

* The material here and below is cited from actual texts.

The Technological Society {435

space.” For what purpose? The conquest of space seems to be an
end in itself, which dispenses with any need for reflection.

We are forced to conclude that our scientists are incapable of
any but the emptiest platitudes when they stray from their special-
ties. It makes one think back on the collection of mediocrities ac-
cumulated by Einstein when he spoke of God, the state, peace, and
the meaning of life. It is clear that Einstein, extraordinary mathe-
matical genius that he was, was no Pascal; he knew nothing of
political or human reality, or, in fact, anything at all outside his
mathematical reach. The banality of Einstein s remarks in matters
outside his specialty is as astonishing as his genius within it. It
seems as though the specialized application of all one’s faculties in
a particular area inhibits the consideration of things in general.
Even J. Robert Oppenheimer, who seems receptive to a general
culture, is not outside this judgment. His political and social dec-
larations, for example, scarcely go beyond the level of those of the
man in the street. And the opinions of the scientists quoted by
V Express are not even on the level of Einstein or Oppenheimer.
Their pomposities, in fact, do not rise to the level of the average.
They are vague generalities inherited from the nineteenth century,
and the fact that they represent the furthest limits of thought of our
scientific worthies must be symptomatic of arrested development
or of a mental block. Particularly disquieting is the gap between
the enormous power they wield and their critical ability, which
must be estimated as null. To wield power well entails a certain
faculty of criticism, discrimination, judgment, and option. It is im-
possible to have confidence in men who apparently lack these
faculties. Yet it is apparently our fate to be facing a “golden age”
in the power of sorcerers who are totally blind to the meaning of
the human adventure. When they speak of preserving the seed of
outstanding men, whom, pray, do they mean to be the judges. It
is clear, alas, that they propose to sit in judgment themselves. It is
hardly likely that they will deem a Rimbaud or a Nietszche worthy
of posterity. When they announce that they will conserve the
genetic mutations which appear to them .most favorable, and that
they propose to modify the very germ cells in order to produce
such and such traits; and when we consider the mediocrity of the
scientists themselves outside the confines of their specialties, we

▲ LOOK AT THE FUTURE

43 s )

can only shudder at the thought of what they will esteem most
“favorable.”

None of our wise men ever pose the question of the end of all
their marvels. The “wherefore” is resolutely passed by. The re-
sponse which would occur to our contemporaries is: for the sake
of happiness. Unfortunately, there is no longer any question of
that One of our best-known specialists in diseases of the nervous
system writes: “We will be able to modify man’s emotions, desires
and thoughts, as we have already done in a rudimentary way with
tranquillizers,” It will be possible, says our specialist to produce a
conviction or an impression of happiness without any real basis
for it. Our man of the golden age, therefore, will be capable of
“happiness” amid the worst privations. Why, then, promise us
extraordinary comforts, hygiene, knowledge, and nourishment if,
by simply manipulating our nervous systems, we can be happy
without them? The last meager motive we could possibly ascribe to
the technical adventure thus vanishes into thin air through the very
existence of technique itself.

But what good is it to pose questions of motives? of Why? AD that
must be the work of some miserable intellectual who balks at tech-
nical progress. The attitude of the scientists, at any rate, is clear.
Technique exists because it is technique. The golden age will be
because it will be. Any other answer is superfluous.

Bibliography

In connection with this bibliography, the following points should be noted:

1) It makes no pretense to be exhaustive. I have listed only the works 1
have actually used and cited in the text. And since books are made to be read
and not consulted, 1 have refected the scholarly tradition of specifying pages
in footnotes.

2) 1 have omitted systematically most works predating 1940. They are
readily available elsewhere .

3) 1 have also omitted literary works on technique, such as those of
Duhamel, Huxley, Ernst Jiinger, Orwell, Gheorgiu, and others .

4) 1 have not inserted references relating to propaganda and psychological
techniques, since these will be found m my forthcoming work on propaganda.

To these remarks of the author the translator wishes to add that it was
impossible to check quotations cited in the text, since page references are
lacking. In some cases, therefore, English has been translated into French
and then back into English, a procedure which can conceivably lead to novel
effects. But as M. Ellul has remarked, the books cited are to be read and not
consulted.

Publisher's Note. This bibliography is somewhat less extensive
than the bibliography in the original French edition since it in-
cludes only those works which are readily available in American
libraries.

438 )

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Schuhl, Pierre-Maxime: Machinisme et philosophic. Paris: F. Alcan; 1938.
Schumacher, Fritz: Der “ Fluch * der Technik. Hamburg: Boysen & Maasch;
1933-

Scott, J. F., and R. F. Lynton: The Community Factor in Modern Technology.

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Sheldon, Oliver, et al. : Factory Organization. London: Pitman & Sons; 1928.
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Simonet, Roger: Les Dernier s progris de la physique. Calmann-Levy; 1948-
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Sluckin, W,: Minds and Machines. Baltimore: Penguin Books; i960.

Smith, J, M., and T. E. Chester: "The Distribution of Power in the National-
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Sombart, Werner: Der modeme Kapitalismus. Munich: Duncker & Humblot;

1924-

: L! Apogee du capitalisme. Paris: Payot; 1932.

Sorre, Maximilien: Let Fondements de la giographie humaine . Let Fonde-
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Spongier, Oswald: The Decline of the West. New York: Alfred A. Knopf;
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: Man and Technics. New York: Alfred A. Knopf; 193*.

Taton, Ren*, ed.: Histolre gtntrale det sciences. Paris: Presses Universitaires
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Tchakhotin, Serge: Organisation rationnelle de la recherche scientifique.
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Toynbee, Arnold: Civilization on Trial. New York: Oxford University Press;
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Index

abstract man, myth of, 390, 391
Academy of Sciences, in Soviet
Union, 314-15, 432
accounting technique, 166-7
adaptation, 397, 398, 408; as
key word of human techniques,
348

Adenauer, Konrad, 269
administrative techniques, 231-2
advertising, 364, 365, 406-8
aesthetics, 72, 73
Africa: and Dardenne's inquiry,
*55; Soviet intervention in, 283
agriculture, 38, 57, 104, 105, 106,
108, 116, 151-2, 274, 339, 433
Algeria, 127, 272
Alvaro, Cerrado, 413
amusement technique, 1 i3“M»
h5,375~82
anti-Semitism, 408
anxiety, 331, 336
Archimedes, 28, 52, 62
architecture, 38

Ardant, Gabriel, 254, 264, 268,

278

Aristotle, xv, xxix

art, subordinated to technique,
128, 129, 404

Aspects sociaux de la rationali •
sation, 354

assembly line: in United States,
58; worker’s uneasiness on, 395
Assyrians, 52
Atlantic Pact, 182, 277
atomic bomb, 61, 62, 86, 98, 99,
MS

atomic energy: industrial use of,
99; need for state control of,
157, 235; research projects in,
249

atomic waste, problem of disposal
of, 109

Augustine, Saint, 34
Australia, 197

automation, 135-6, 153-4, 433; tee
also cybernetics; electronic cal-
culating machine
automatism, technical, see techni-
cal automatism
automatons, 45

INDEX

<0

autonomy o f technique* 133-47
Aventur, Jacques, 159, *43* 431

backward peoples* 117, 118* iso,
1*1, iss* 123
Bakunin* Mikhail A.* 222
Bardet* Gaston, 153* 270
Barth* Karl* 290

Bastide* Roger* 404; quoted* 124
Bata, Thomas, 248, 351 and ft.
Beecher, Catherine Esther, 326
and n.

Belgium, 248
Bergson, Henri, 429
Berlin Institute of Applied Psy-
chology, 368

Bertolino, on standardization, 211,
212* 213

Bettelheim, Charles, 174, 177
Be van* Aneurin, 277
Beveridge Plan, 103
biocracy, 398, 414
biogenetics, 143, 389
biometry* 139, 342
"blade'’ novels, 417
Bloch* Marc, 23
Bodin, Jean, 39
Boer War, 272
Boulton, Matthew, 53
bourgeoisie , 58, 219, 221, 222,
421; involved with technique,
53-4; technicians of, and wor-
ship of technique, 144-5; moral-
ity of work constructed by, 220;
In scapegoat role for Commu-
nists, 366
Bourget, Paul, 418
Bouthoul, Gaston, 137
Brazil, 104

Breton, Andr6* 416, 417, 426
Buddhism* 32, 76, 121, 130
Bulgaria, 272

Bulletin of the Social Sciences , 121
Bureau of Standards, in United
States, 169* 259

Burnham, James, n
Butlin vacation camps, 380-1

Caillois, Roger, 422
calculating machine, electronic, 16*
89, 163, 429-30; see also auto-
mation; cybernetics
Camichel, Charles, 10, 93
Canada: police power in, 103;
vitrification process undertaken
in, 109

capitalism, 5, 53, 56, 104, 144, 184,
197, 201, 236, 364, 418; and
technical automatism, 81-2; and
technological unemployment,
103; use of statistical data re-
stricted by, 169; and norms in
economic technique of interven-
tion, 172; technique as factor
in destruction of, 198, 236-7;
state, 245, 247; technique of
human relations in, 356
Carnegie, Dale, 341
Cartwright* Edmund* 112
Castelli* Enrico, 329 ft.

Castro, Fidel, 197
Castro, J. de, 104* 107, 108
Cato the Elder, 36
Caus. Solomon TV 8
Celsus, 34
cenobitism, 37

Chardin, Pierre Teilhard de* uxi,
*34

charism, mechanized, 423
Charles I, 55

China, 70, 266; Communist, xifi,
121, 179 ft.

Chirico, Giorgio de, 129, 404
Christianity: and technique, 32-8;
taboos resulting from, 49; in
eighteenth-century England, 56
Church of England, 56
Ciliga, A., 255

city, big, phenomenon of, 113-14

Index

city-planning technique, 113, 23 7*
270

Clark, Colin, 88, 104
CKRS, in France, 311-12, 3x3
Colbert, Jean Baptiste, 41
collective incubation, 48, 59
colonialism, 118, 119
Combat (newspaper), 349
combine, created by technical ne-
cessity, 156

comfort: in technical society, 66;

in Middle Ages, 66-7
commons, enclosure of, 57
Communism, 81, 82, 121, 144, 196,
206, 221, 260, 266, 282-3, *89,
490, 3«4» 365, 383. 384. 403.
420, 422; see also Marxism;
socialism; Soviet Union
Communist Party, in Soviet Union:
and ITR, 255-6; and Lysenko,

315

compass, nautical, invention of, 38
competition, 204; adverse to lib-
eralism, 203

computer, electronic, 16, 8g, 163,
429-30; see also automation;
cybernetics

concentration camp, 131-2, 272-3.
386, 388, 398; imposed by
technical necessity, 102-3, 1 4°
consciousness: intervention of, in
technical operation, 20, 21; be-
clouded by amusement tech-
niques, 380, 381
consumer research, 273
corporation, 113, 154, 155, 170,
435 ; technical and basic sci-
entific research by, 317
corporatism, 183, 185, 186, 246
Cort, Henry, 58
Couffignal, Louis, 349
counselor, industrial, 353
Cromwell, Oliver, 56
Crozier, Michel, 353, 419
Crusades, 35, 68

(Hi

cybernetics, 45, 136, 279 n., 342,
392; see aho automation; elec-
tronic calculating machine
cyclotron, 145, 236
Czechoslovakia, 382

Dardenne, African inquiry by, 155
Dawes plan, 182
D.D.T., as poison for warm-
blooded animals, 106
decentralization, 199-200
De Civitate Dei, 34
Deffontaines, Pierre, 23 n., 76
Defoe, Daniel, 56
De Gaulle, Charles, xi
de la Mattrie, Julien Offroy, 395 n*
democracy: technique opposed to,
208-18; perverted by accumula-
tion of propaganda techniques,
275-6; dictatorship imitated by,
288-9; devalued by propaganda,
373-4

Denmark, 248, 269
depression, economic, 151
Descartes, Ren£, xiv, 40, 43, 52
determinism, technological form
of, xxxiii

dialectics, opposed to statistics, 206
Dickson, W. J., 305
dictatorship: problem of, posed by
decolonization, 123; implied by
standardization, 213; politicians
and technicians In, 256-7; imi-
tated by democracy, 288-9;
technicized sport in, 383; world-
wide totalitarian, 434
Diderot, Denis, 46
dissociation of man, 398-402
DNA, 143
"dreams, great," 404
Driencourt, Jacques, 125, 285;

quoted, 286
Duboin, Jacques, 137
Ducassd, Pierre, 3, 38, 62
Duchamp, Marcel, 404

INDEX

iv)

Dumont, Ren£, 108
Dupriez, Hugo, 88

EAC, 259

East German Democratic Repub-
lic, New Work Code in, 104
ECA, 182

econometrics, 16, 164, 165, 171
economic man, 218-27
economic science, 159 ff defined,
157-8

economic technique (s), 22, 114-
15, 148-227 passim ; secret ways
of, 158-83 passim ; statistics in,
163-5, 170. i 9 S» 196; of

observation, 163-71; accounting
in, 166-7; method of models in,
167-8; public-opinion analysis
in, 168-9; action, 171-7; see
also technique ( s ) , economic
systems confronted by
economy: centralized, 193-200;

authoritarian, 200-8; antidemo-
cratic, 208-18

economy of forms, principle of, 67
ecstatic phenomena, 420 and n.,
421, 422, 423, 424, 426
educational technique, 344 — 9; see
also pedagogy

efficiency, as end of technique, 21,
72,73,74, 80, 110
Egypt, ancient, 36, 52, 68, 70,
295

Einstein, Albert, 10, 317, 435
electrical networks, interconnec-
tion of, 237

electronic banks, in year 2000, 432
electronic calculating machine, 16,
89, 163, 429-30; see also auto-
mation; cybernetics
Elkin, A P., quoted, 122
enclosure of commons, 57
Engels, Friedrich, 62
Engel's law, xv, xvi

Engineers and the Price System,
The, v

England, see Great Britain
eroticism, 415, 416, 425, 426
Esprit, quoted, 384
Essai sur la civilisation d*Occident,
48

Etruscans, 33
existentialism, 426

famine, problem of, 107, 108, 109
and n.

Faraday, Michael, 8
Fascism, 238, 246, 262, 263, 266,
289, 290, 420; see also National
Socialism
fatalism, xxix, xxx
fatigue of worker, 338, 350, 351
feedback, 14 «,

Feely, James K., Jr., 264, 265
Ferrer o, Guglielmo, 229
fifteenth century, technique in,
38 - 9 . 72

financial technique, 113, 230-1,
244-5

First World War, maladroit prop-
aganda used during, 365
Fondement thiologique du droit ,
292 n

Ford, Henry, 211, 350
FourastiS, Jean, xxxi, 61, 64, 88,
91, 150, 192, 198, 336; tech-
nique defined by, 15, 16, 17;
quoted, 215,245

France, 155, 167, £49, 252, 262,
263, 267, 268, 272, 278, 295,
324, 326, 349, 422 and n.;
flexibility of state intervention
in, 187; groundwork for electri-
fication of, 195; Maison de la
Presse in, 240; insurance indus-
try in, 241; economic planning
in, 269, 270; National Center
for Scientific Research in, 311-
12, 313; increase of popula*

Index

France (Continued)
tion in, 328; education in, 344,
345, 349; trade unionism in,
357; vocational guidance in,
359, 36a

Franco, Francisco, 263
Frankel, Charles F., quoted, 122
Frankel, S. Herbert, quoted, 122
Frederick the Great, 43, 229
free enterprise, 200, 202, 205
French Revolution, 43, 50, 140,
209, 229, 230, 232, 243-4, 2 8 i
F riedmann, Georges, xxxi, 274,

2 75> 3*5, 336, 350, 353* 354*
373, 400; technique defined by,
17; quoted, 311, 322-3, 400
Frisch, Ragnor, xxxi
Fromm, Erich, xi

Futur a dejd commence, Le ,
43 2 n *

Gallup Institute, 168
"general system theory," 421 n.
General Theory , Keynes's, 150
genetics, in year 2000, 432-3
Geographic des religions, 23
Geography of Hunger, T he, 1 04
Germany, 187, 238, 241, 244-5,
256, 257, 322, 382; economic
planning in, 174, 269; occupied,
CIC in, 272; propaganda in,
before and during Second World
War, 367, 368, 369, 370, 371;
postwar neuroses in, 370; see
also Hitler, Adolf; National So-
cialism

Giedion, Siegfried, v, 45, 58, 66,
67, 129, 135, 141, 152, 327;
quoted, 52, 129, 133, 134-5* 13 7
Gilbreth, Frank B., 53, 181, 330,
331

Gille, Bertrand, 36; quoted, 7, 71
Girondists, 51
Glass, Max, 233, 283
Goebbels, Josef, 420

(•>

Cosplan, 315
Graham, Sylvester, 327
Gravier, Jean Francois, 199
Great Britain, 152, 252, 257, 258,
263, 272, 277; National Re-
search Project in, 172; concept
of full employment in, 180,
Central Committee fra - National
Patriotic Organization in, 240;
economic planning in, 269;
intervention by, in Greece
(1944)* 2 $ 2 ; Button's vacation
camps in, 380-1

Greece, ancient, 70, 73; and

technique, 27-9, 33, 44, 45> 70 .
slavery in, 66; art in, 68;
athletes of, 38ft
Gueron, J., 336
guilds, 50, 51, 67

Guitton, Henri, 150; quoted, 6
gunpowder, invention of, 38

Haberler, Gottfried, 150, 189, 190
Hargreaves, James, 1 12
Hayek, Friedrich August von, 178,
180

H-bomb, 285

Hegel, Georg, xii, »ii, xiv, xv, 52
historical science, technique of, 8
Hitler, Adolf, xvii, 59, 83, 191, 213,
239, 240, 244, *54* *55* *61*
262, 276, 290, 322; quoted, 84,
367; see also Germany; National
Socialism

Hoeffding, Harald, xiv; quoted, xiii
Holland, 248, 264
Homans, George C., quoted, 65
and ft.

Hoover Committee, for elimination
of waste, 156
Horney, Karen, 333
Howard, Albert, 339
human engineering, 351, 353
human relations, technique of,
354 -$

INDEX

human technique (s), a*, ^
3 i»- 4 * 7 i necessities of, 319-
40; hopes placed in, 336^8; army
experiments in, 343; multiplicity
of* 343 - 4 ; adaptation as key
word of, 348; related to all other
techniques, 394; and total in-
tegration of personality, 410-27
humanism, 430, 43 1; of seven-
teenth century, 41-2; technical,
336 . 337 . 338 . 339 . 340. 348,
350 » 4<>9

Huxley, Aldous, xf
Huygens, Christian, 8

immigration, problems raised by,
*70-1
Incas, 70

incubation, collective, 48, 59
India, 3*, 147, 179 n, 266
Indian Journal of Political Science ,
178 n., 179 fk

Industrial Revolution, 42-60 pas-
sim

initiative, censored by technique,
420

input-output technique, 166
Inquisition, 59
insemination, artificial, in year
2000, 432-3

instincts, integration of, 415
integration, total, as object of
techn ique, 4 1 0-27
Intercontinental Ballistic Missile,

284

International Agency for Atomic
Energy, 109

International Labor Organization,
354

invention, 23, 38, 70; in eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries, 44,
52; propagation of, 50; in United
States (1750-1850). 52; un-
predictability of, 91
Islam, 32

Israel, ancient, 36
Italy, *38, *63, 357
ITR, 255-6

Japan, 123, 15a, 28a
J«z.4»5.4i6.4«5
Jesuits, 252

Joliot-Curie, Fr6d£rfc, quoted, 312
Joseph II, 59
Judaei, 35

judgment, intervention of, in
technical operation, ao, *1
judicial technique, 291-300; see
also law

Julian, Emperor, 34
Jung, Carl, 141
Jiinger, Ernst, ix

Jiinger, F„ 13, 15. 85. 194 . *01,

* 98 . 383

Jungk, Robert, 138, 259, 429, 431,
432 quoted, 8, io, 137, 138

429

Kelsen, Hans, 296
Ken, Bellanden, 258
Keynes, John Maynard, 150, 151
170, 1 77

Khrushchev, Nikita S., 214
Kierkegaard, Sdren, 55
Klee, Paul, 404
Kohler, Joseph, 292
Kohn-Bramstedt, Ernst, 100, 101,
133. *85

Krokodil magazine, 353, 424, 425

labor unionism, 357-8
Lahy, J. M., 397
laissez-faire, 200
Lajugie, Joseph, 154
Laloup, Jean, 71, 378
Lasswell, Harold D., technique
defined by, x, 18

Latil, Pierre de, 75, 414; quoted,

430

Index

(vii

Lavcra port, creation of, 120
law, 231; in ancient Rome, 30,
68-9, 71, 77, *84, *97 n.; sys-
tematized in Napoleonic code,
43, 69; backwardness of, *51-*;
proliferation of, 297-8; see also
judicial technique
L^ger, Fernand, 129, 404
leisure, in technical society, 400-2
Lenin, Nikolai, 83, 84, 232, 240,
260, 279, 280, 290, 418
Leonardo da Vinci, 44
Leroi-Gourh an, Andr6, 20, 23, 24,

63

V Esprit des masses ; 206
LeTelHer, Michel, 229
C Express (newspaper), 432, 435
Ley, Robert, 405
rhomme-machine, 395-8
liberal interventionism, 183, 187,
189

liberalism: technique opposed to,
*00-5; competition adverse to,
203; and economic man, 218
Life magazine, 347
limes, of Roman Empire, 36 and n.
literature, subordinated to tech-
nique, 128
Loewenberg, J., xiii
Louis XIV, 41, 231
Louis XVI, 49
Louvois, F., 41, 229
Lowe, Chombart de, 336
Lutfalla report, 166
Luxembourg, 248
Lynton, R. P„ 355, 361; quoted,
117. ia6, 334
Lysenko, T., 315

MacArthur, Douglas, 259
Machiavelli, Niccol6, 232, 284
machine(s): and technique, 3-11,
42, 242; electronic calculating,
16, 89, 163, 4*9“3<>; war, 16,
276-7; slow diffusion of, 71;

machine ( Continued)

impossibility of isolated, 1 12; for
evaluating military situations,
279 agricultural, 309-10;
man coupled with, 395-8; see
also automation; cybernetics;
technical phenomenon
macroeconomics, 157, 161, 162,
169, 205-6

magic, 24-7, 36-7, 64, 65, 69
maieutic, 345 and ru
Malraux, Andres, ix
Man and Technics , v
Managerial Revolution , The, 11
Marchal, Jean, 153, 154, 158, 183,
184, 189

Marches, of Roman Empire, 36
and n.

Marshall Plan, 182, 307
Marx, Karl, vi, 52, 54, 55, 62,
82, 144. M9* 15°. 153» 197.
222, 233, 281, 403
Marxism, xii, 54, 69, 150, 154,206,
260, 290, 302; see also Commu-
nism; socialism; Soviet Union
Mas, Antoine, 172, 362; quoted,
11-12, 92, 201,250, 275
mass man, 405—10
mass production, demands of,
upon consumer, 327
mass society, creation of, 332-5
Masson-Oursel, 25
mathematics: applied in transition
from art to technique, 342; all-
inclusiveness as aim of, 431; see
also statistics

Maucorps, Paul H., quoted, 342
Mauss, Marcel: quoted, 10, 24;

technique defined by, 13, 14, 15
Mead, Margaret, 121, 122; quoted,

361

Mechanization Takes Command , v
medicine, 384-7; psychosomatic,
39*

Mein Kampf ; quoted, 84, 367
Memoire sur le recrutement , 229

index

t HU)

Mende, Tibor, 179 ».

M^rigot, Jean, ax 8
Methodism, 56

microeconomics, 157, 161, 16a,
170

microfilm, 163

Middle Ages, 35, 38, 66-7, 73,
*57

Mikoyan, Anastas I., quoted, 246
milieu: social, plasticity of, 49, 51*
55 , 56, 57, 59-6o, ia6; modified
by technique, 325-7
military technique, 83, 229-30
Miller, Henry, 415, 416, 417, 425,
426

Mills, C. Wright, 256
Mir6, Joan, 404
Mohammed, 32
Monde ; Le, 349

money, symbolism of, 219, aai
monism, of technique, 94-111
Monnerot, Jules, 364, 391; quoted,
369, 370

Monnetplan, 179, 181
monopoly, 202
Montaigne, Michel de, 345
Montessori, Maria, 86, 347;

quoted, 346
Moore, W. E., 354, 355
morale: technique supported by,
321-2; building, 341
morality, 301, 302; not observed
by technique, 97, 134; bour-
geois, 220

Moraz6, Charles, 48
Morgenstem, O., 2790.

Moss£, Robert, 157, 158
motion, modified by technique,
330-1

motion pictures: artificial paradise
created by, 377; passion for,
explained by will to escape, 378
Mounier, Emmanuel, xxxi, 79, 429
Mumford, Lewis, v, 42, 47, 88,
95* 98, 99* 114* 177. an, 3*9;

Mumford (Continued)

quoted, 5, 6, 45* 95* 99-ioo,
169

Munson, Claude, 125, 334, 341,
342; quoted, 341-2, 409
music, “objectivity” in, 129-30
Mussolini, Benito, 303
mystery, as element in man’s life,
141-2

Napoleon, 43* 53* #3* *30* *31.

*39, *67, 268, 281
Napoleonic code, 43, 69
narcotics, 108-9
Nasser, Carnal Abdel, 197
National Bureau of Standards, in
United States, 169, 259
National Center for Scientific Re-
search, in France, 311-12, 313
National Research Project, in
Great Britain, 172
National Socialism, 244-5, *55*
260, 261, 262, 289, 290, 296,
317* 318, 365* 366, 374, 388,
397* 405* 4**; *ee also Ger-
many; Hitler, Adolf
nation-state, 237-8, 265
Navel, Georges, 403
Naville, Pierre, 359, 360, 361, 36a
Nazism, see National Socialism
Nef, J. U., 110, in, 169
Nelis, Jean, 71, 378
Netherlands, 248, 264
Neurath, Otto, 360
neuroses, 331, 334, 369, 370
New Zealand, 197; police power
in, 103

Noettes, Richard Lefebvre des, 23
norms: in economic technique of
intervention, 171-3; logic of,

172-3

nuclear physics, and state, 236
nutrition, problems associated
with, 109-jo

Index

obsessional technique, 366
operational research, techniques

of, 129, 173

Oppenheimer, J. Robert, 99, 43S
Organisation Europ^enne de Co-
operation Econoimique, 265-6
organization, technique of, 11-13,
21, 22

Organization Man f The f 363
overproduction, in United States,

156

pantocrator, defined, 347 n,

Papin, Denis, 8,71
Pascal, Blaise, 41,71
Pasdermaidjan, Hrant, 249
Pasteur, Louis, 45

pedagogy, 22, 252; see also ed-
ucational technique
P6guy, Charles, 223
PensSeartificielle, La, 430
Perrin, Porter Gale, 75
Perroux, Francois, 161, 175, 217
personality, total integration of, as
object of technique, 410-27
Peter the Great, 59
Phttnomenologie des Geistes , xiii,
xv

Philip IV, 230, 239, 284
physics: preceded by technique,
8; nuclear, and state, 236
Picasso, Pablo, 404
Pitt, William, 56

planning, economic, 157, 173-7,
184-90 passim , 194, 195, 201,
213-14, 269, 270, 307; criti-
cized by Perroux, 175, 217; and
liberty, 177-83; see also econ-
omy, antidemocratic
Plato, xii, xiii, xxix
Point Four, Truman's, 119, 120,

184

Poland, 272

police control, technique of, 100—1,
102, 103, 111, 133, 412-13

(lx

political doctrine, and technique,
280-4

politicians, in conflict with tech-
nicians, 255-67

politics of engagement, 415, 417
Pombal, Marquis de, 59
population: related to technique,
48, 59; world, increase of, 328
Presence au monde moderne, 141,
189 n., 222-3
Prince , Machiavelli’s, 232
printing, invention of, 38
progress, hopes of, through tech-
nique, 190-3

progressive education, 344-8
proletariat, 51, 143, 144, 198, 220,
221, 222, 289

propaganda, 22, 84, 91, 101, 115,
121, 125, 216, 221, 240, 261,
275-6, 285-6, 344, 363-75;
conditioned reflexes created by,
365, 37 5; during war, 365-6;
scapegoats introduced by, 366-
8; manipulation of subconscious
by, 367, 369. 372, 373* 375;
Oedipus complex manipulated
by, 368; critical faculty sup-
pressed by, 369, 370; good
social conscience provided by,
369, 370; overall effects of,
369-70; manipulability of mas-
ses as object of, 370-1; de-
mocracy devalued by, 373-4;
difference from amusement tech-
nique, 375-6

Propagandas, 363 n., 372 n.
Prosperity and Depression, 150
Proudhon, Pierre J., 222
psychoanalysis, 14, 142, 143, 226,
28s 34°» 34b 344» 370; social,
368, 387

psychological technique, 321, 322-
3, 324,409,410,411,412
psychometry, 342
psychopedagogy, 346, 348
psychosomatic medicine, 392

public opinion: analysis of, 168-9;
and morality, 30*, oriented to-
ward technique, 303, 304, 310
public relations, 341, 351, 373
Puritans, 56

radio: importance of, in propa-
ganda hierarchy, 375; as instru-
ment of human isolation, 379
Reader’s Digest , 343
reason, intervention by, in tech-
nical operation, 20-1
reciprocal suggestion, 369
Reformation, 35, 38, 39, 56
Reiwald, P., 206
Renaissance, 38, 4 1
Republic , Plato’s, xiil
Rey, Abel, 28
Rice, Stuart Arthur, 195
Richelieu, 41, 284
Road to Serf dom t 178
Robin, Armand, 371
Roethlisberger, Fritz Jules, 334
Rome, ancient, 67, 77, 125; and
technique, 29-32, 33* 3*>* 60,
125; law in, 30, 68-9, 71, 77.
284, 297 n.,- slavery in, 66, 70;
athletes of, 382, 383
Rtipke, Wilhelm, 283
Rostand, Edmond, 223
Rousseau, Jean Jacques, xix
Russell, Bertrand, 153
Russian Revolution, 209, 322, 365

Sahara, 249, effects of petroleum
explorations in, 106-7
Saint Augustine, 34
Stunt Ignatius Loyola, 52, 234
sales engineering, 273
San Marino, 248

Sargent, Alain, 336, 415; quoted,
39S 4M

Sartre, Jean-Paul, ix, 206, 424
satellite, artificial, 14$, 249
Sauvy, Alfred, quoted, 93

Sa very, Thomas, 8

Savigny, Friedrich Karl von, 29a

scholasticism, 35

science: and technique, 7-11, 45,
317; in ancient Greece, 28, 29
Science Technique, a8
Sciences of Man Re-establish Hit
Supremacy , The , 336
scientists, naivete of, 434-6
Scott, Jerome, 126, 334, 355
Semaines midicoks de Paris, 331
servo-mechanism, 14 and n., 88, 217
Seymonds, Arthur, 258
Shannon, Claude E., 279 *.
Sheldon, Oliver, quoted, 11
sixteenth century, technique in,
38-42

Skinner, B. F., xi
slavery, 29. 35. 36, 65-6, 70
social plasticity, 49, 51, 55, 36,
57. 59-6o. 126

social psychoanalysis, 368, 387
social structure, and technique,
302, 304, 305

socialism, 189, 196, 197-8, 24s
246, 275, 282; and technologi-
cal unemployment, 103-4, 1 53-
4; fragmentary, 198; suppres-
sion of state implied by, 243;
and concept of teleology, 246-7;
technique of human relations in,
356; vocational guidance in,
360, 362; and propaganda, 373;
see also Communism; Marxism;
Soviet Union

socialist rivalry, *13, 225, 356
sociology: technical application of,
14; psychoanalytic, 333, 387
sociometry, 342
Socrates, 345 and n.
soil conservation: authoritarian

methods necessary for, 107-8;
and trace elements, 339
Soustelle, Jacques, 99
South Africa, 269
Soviet News, 347

Index

Soviet Union, xi, xii, 81, 119, 1*3,
* 47 . 195 * *08, 126, *39, *45,
*46* * 57 * *62, *82, 302, 347;
and technological unemploy-
ment, 103, 154; as technical
power, 119; technicians sup
plied by, to underdeveloped
peoples, lai; concentration
camps in, 13a, 27a; statisticians
in, 164; economic planning by,
173* *74* 189, 213-14; dose to
synthesis of politics and eco-
nomics, 197; technical intel-
ligentsia in, 255-6; MVD in,
*72; Academy of Sciences in,
314-15, 432; tempo of change
to, 349 ; trade unionism in, 357;
vocational guidance in, 360-1;
news faked in, 371; propaganda
h** 37 *» 373* 382; technicized
sport in 382; advertising pub-
licity in, 406; criticism permitted
in, reason for, 424, 425; see
also Communism; Marxism;
socialism

space, modified by technique,
3*8

Spain, 263

specialization, bridged by tech-
nique, 132

Spengler, Oswald, v
spirituality, integration of, 415,
417.418
sport, 382-4
Sputnik, M 5.317
Stakhanovism, 225, 246, 342
Stalin, Joseph, 59, 144, 114, 223,
254, 260, 262, 290
standardization: Mas quoted on,
1 1—11; Bertolino's view of, 211,
212, 213; authoritarian state
action implied by, 211-11
state; techniques of, for control of
individual, 115; atomic energy
controlled by, 157, 235; and
centralized economy, 193-8

(*<

•tale ( Continued )

passim; ancient techniques uti-
lized by, *29-33; political

function of, 232; new tech-

niques utilized by, 233-9, 3«7~
11; radio controlled by, 235-
and nuclear physics, 236;
reaction of, to techniques elabo-
rated by individuals, *43-7;
conjoined with technique, *45,
*46, 247; repercussions on, of
conjunction with technique,

247- 91; evolution of, following

conjunction with technique,

248- 52; as technical organism,
*52-5; constitution of, and tech-
nique, 267-80; totalitarian,
284-91, 364, 365, 384; medical
techniques utilized by, 385-6

state capitalism, 245, 247
state-nation, 237-8, 265
statistics: in economic technique,
163-5, 169, 170, 195, 196;
opposed to dialectics, 206; mass
society implied by, *07
Steelman report ( 1947), 317
stochastics, 165, 216
Stravinsky, Igor, quoted, 129
suggestion; reciprocal, 369;

masses receptive to, 410
"‘superman,"' remote possibility of,
337-8

"“surplus value,* persistence of, in
socialist regimes, 246
surrealism, 4 * 5 * 4 *6. 4 1 7* 4*5
Sweden, 382, 421, 422
Swift, Jonathan, 56
Switzerland, 421, 422
systemic*, unknown effects of, 106

taboo*; resulting from Christi*
anity, 49; sociological, 49, 50, 55
TAT, 363
taxation, 269

INDEX

Xii)

Taylor, Frederick Winslow, 133,
264, 350

Taylorism, 246, 326
Tchakotin, Serge, 84, 341, 365
technical anesthesia, 412-15
technical automatism, 79-111;
defined, 80; and capitalism,
81-2

technical civilization, defined,
127-8

technical complex, formation of, 47
technical consciousness, 57, 58, 59,
126, 127

technical convergence, 391, 392
technical intelligentsia, in Soviet
Union, 255-6

technical intention, 60; defined, 52
technical operation, 19, 20, 21
technical organism, development
of state into, 252-5
technical phenomenon, 19, 20, 21,
22, 52, 63, 69, 85; present
aspect of, 61, 62, 78; rational
process in, 78-9; artificiality of,
79; limitless progress open for,
90; monism of, 94-111, 195;
impersonality of, 387; see also
machine (s) ; technique (s )
technical universalism, 1 16-33,

*uG, 355

technicians: in conflict with poli-
ticians, 255-67; as new elite,
275; as specialists, 389; and
myth of abstract Man, 390;
unaware of technical con-
vergence, 391

technique (s) : definitions of, vi-
viii, x, xviii, rix, xxv-xxvi, xxviii,
XXX vi, 13-18, 19; and machines,
3-11, 42, 242; and science,
7-11, 45, 317; of organization,
11-13, 21, 22; UNESCO Col-
loquium on, 17; efficiency as
end of, 21, 72, 73, 74, 80, 110;
economic, see economic tech-
nique^); human, see human

technique (Continued)

technique (s); primitive, 23-7,
63; and ancient Greece, 27-9,
33 . 44 . 45 ; and ancient Rome,
29-32. 33. 36, 60, 125; and
Christianity, 32-8; in sixteenth
century, 38-42; and Industrial
Revolution, 42-60 passim; in-
tellectual, 43, 116; in eighteenth
century, 44, 45, 46, 47, 52; in
nineteenth century, 44, 45, 47,
112; population related to, 48,
59; bourgeoisie involved with,
53-4, 144-5; masses converted
to, 54-5; agricultural, 57, 104,
105, 108, 116, 151-2, 274; five
factors in growth of, summary
of, 59-60; characterology of,
61-147 possim; traditional, and
society, 64-77; in civilization,
64-79; instrumental, 67; ab-
stract, 71, 73; slow evolution
of, 71-2; characteristics of
modem, 77-147; and automa-
tism of technical choice, 79-85;
political, 83, 84, 136 (see also
state); military, 83, 229-30;
self-augmentation of, 85-94;
geometric progression in self-
augmentation of, 59, 91; inter-
dependence and combinations
of, 91, 111-16; monism of, 94-
111; moral judgments not ob-
served by, 97, 134; necessity
as characteristic of, 99, 111-16;
of police control, 10 0-1, 102,
103, 111, 133, 412-13; unfore-
seeability of secondary effects
of, 105-11; commercial, 112-
13; transportational, 113; fi-
nancial, 1 13, 230-1, 244-5; city-
planning, 113, 237, 270; of
amusement, 113-14, 115, 375-
82; of state, for control of
individual, 115 (see also state);
universalism of, 1 16-33, 206,

Index

technique ( Continued )

355; cultural breakdown pro-
voked by, 121, 122, 123, 124,
126, 130; literature subordi-

nated to, 128; art subordinated
to, 128, 129, 404; of operational
research, 129, 173; for ‘"ob-
jective’* music, 129-30; special-
ization bridged by, 132; au-
tonomy of, 133-47; human
being subservient to, 137-9,
306-7, 340; worship of, 143-6,
302-3, 324; and economy,

see economic man; economic
science; economic technique(s);
economic systems confronted
by, 183-90; hopes of progress
awakened by, 190-3; centrali-
zation presupposed by, 193-4;
as factor in destruction of
capitalism, 198, 236-7; op-
posed to liberalism, 200-5; op-
posed to democracy, 208-18;
and economic man, 218-27;
ancient, utilized by state, 229-
33; administrative, 231-2; new,
utilized by state, 233-9, 307-
11; private and public, 239-
43> 300-1; conjoined with state,
245, 246, 247; and reper-

cussions on state, 247-91; and
state constitution, 267-80; and
political doctrines, 280-4; ju-
dicial, 291-300 (see also law);
repercussions on, 300-18; no
counterbalance to, 301-7; in-
stitutions in service of, 311-18;
and human tension, 319-25;
psychological, 321, 322-3,

324, 409, 410, 411, 412 (see
also psychoanalysis); milieu
and space modified by, 325—
8; time and motion modified
by, 328-32; and humanism,
336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 348,
35o, 409; educational, 344-9

(xiii

technique ( Continued)

( see also pedagogy); of work,
349-58; of human relations,
354-6; medical, 384-7; special-
ized, efficiency of, 388, 389;
human dissociation produced by,
398-402; initiative censored by,
420; and ecstatic phenomena,
421, 422, 423, 424; revolt
integrated by, 425-6, 427;

future of, 428-36; see also
economic technique (s); human
technique (s); states; technical
phenomena
technocracy, 336

technological unemployment, 103-4
television: artificial paradise cre-
ated by, 377; as means of es-
cape, 378-9; as destroyer of
personality and human relations,
380

Temps harcelant, Le, 329 n.
tension, human, 319-25
Thematic Apperception Test, 363
Tibetans, 76, 121
Tillich, Paul, xi

time, modified by technique, 328-
30

tools: and skill of worker, 67, 68;

conquest belonging to, 146
totalitarian state, 284-91, 364,

365* 384

Toynbee, Arnold, 11, 12, 21
trace elements, and soil conser-
vation, 339

trade unionism, 357-8
Treatise on Bread, 327
Truman, Harry S., 119, 120, 184
trusts, 202, 235
“truth serum," 385
Turkey, 123

TV A* 108, 182, 265, 323, 324

unconscious, the, triumph of,
402-5

INDEX

xiv)

underdeveloped peoples, 117, 1x8,
120, i2i, 122, 123
unemployment, technological,
103-4

UNESCO, 17. iai, 123, 346, 361
unionism, labor, 357-8
United States, 107, 108, 119, 147,
*96, 235, 252, 263, 284, 286,
3*6, 347; invention in (1750-
*850), 5»; « technical power,
119; technicians supplied by,
to underdeveloped peoples,
120; crash programs in, to re-
construct soil, 143; concentra-
tion of capital in, 154, 155;
overproduction in, 156; statis-
ticians in. 164; economic plan-
ning in, 184, *70; Bureau of
the Budget in, 195; and synthe-
sis of politics and economics,
197; political technicians in,
258-9; antitrust laws in, 266;
FBI in, 272; sales engineering
in, 273; inability of, to pay for
complete disarmament, 277;
lobbyists in, 278; Japan occupied
by, 282; scientific research in,
3i5» 316, 317; large-scale ag-
riculture in, 339; tempo of
change in, 349; labor unionism
in, 357; postwar neuroses in,
369, 370; and propaganda, 372
373, 374; technicized sport in,
38a, 383

universalism: in sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries, 40; of
technique, 11&-33, 206, 355
urbanitis, 332

Vauban, S., 41

Vaucanson, Jacques de, 46

Veblen, Thorstein, Y, xvifi, 8l*

152

Veill6, Roger, 379, 381, 382,
418 ».

Venetians, 35

Vevey Congress, 109 117

Vian, Boris, 417
Vlerendeel, Arthur, 47, 48
Vincent, Andr6 L. A., 48, 85, 203;
quoted, is, 167; technique de-
fined by, 16, 17, 18
vitrification process, 109
vocational guidance, 22, 358-63
Vogt, William, 107, 108, 116;

quoted, 116-17
Voltaire, 46

Wallace, Henry, 303
Walther, Leon, 352, 400
war, 422; BouthouTi view of
causes of, 137; modern, beyond
human endurance, 320; propa-
ganda used during, 365-6
war machines, 16, 276-7
Warburton, William, 56
Waterman report, 317
Watt. James, 53
Weber, Max, xiv
Weil, Simone, 245
Weill, Georges, 336
Welles, Orson, 381
Wengert, Norman, 323
Whyte, William Hollingsworth,
383

Wicksell, Knut, 177
Wiener, Norbert, 9, 38, 4a, 48, 90,
2 77* 279 «■. 419

work: as morality of bourgeoisie,
220; present-day, felt as ab-
surdity, 320; technique of, 349-
58; on assembly line, un-
easiness caused by, 395; disso-
ciation produced by, 398-402
World Congress for the Study of
Nutrition, 109

Yalta agreements, 282
Young plan, 183

Zweckwissenschaft, 317, 318

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

jacques ellul was born on January 6, 1912, in
Bordeaux, France. He studied at the University
of Bordeaux and at the University of Paris, and
holds degrees in Sociology, Law, and the His-
tory of Law. Since 1938 he has been associated
with the University of Bordeaux as professor of
History and Contemporary Sociology.

During the Second World War, Professor Ellul
was a leader in the French resistance movement,
and since then he has been active in politics in
his native city. He is prominent in the worldwide
Ecumenical movement.

Among his works are Propaganda (1965), and
The Political Illusion ( 1967).

SOCIOLOGY & POLITICAL SCIENCE

"Jacques Ellul is a French sociologist, a Catholic layman active
in the ecumenical movement, a leader of the French resistance
in the war, and — one is tempted to add, after reading his book—
a great man. Certainly he has written a magnificent book.
...The translation by John Wilkinson is excellent.

"With monumental calm and maddening thoroughness he goes
through one human activity after another and shows how it has
been technicized — rendered efficient— and diminished in the
process....”

—Paul Pickrel, Harper’s

"The Technological Society is one of the most important books
of the second half of the twentieth century. In it, Jacques Ellul
convincingly demonstrates that technology, which we continue
to conceptualize as the servant of man, will overthrow everything
that prevents the internal logic of its development, including hu-
manity itself — unless we take the necessary steps to move
human society out of the environment that ’technique’ is creat-
ing to meet its own needs."

—Robert Theobald, The Nation

"...The effect is a contained intellectual explosion, a heated
recognition of a tragic complication that has overtaken con-
temporary society."

—Scott Buchanan, George Washington Law Review

780394

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